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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27493429">we never sleep, we never try</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexonastick/pseuds/sexonastick'>sexonastick</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>RWBY</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, As In Ships Not Tagged Here, Background Femslash, F/F</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:46:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>54,582</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27493429</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexonastick/pseuds/sexonastick</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Day and night, it’s all the same inside of <i>Rusty CrowBar</i>; it’s not a total dive but not really high class either. Yang’s been there since she was legal, and you see all kinds of people come and go. Most of them don’t leave an impact. It's just a few bills and some change tossed on the bar, or sometimes a phone number if she was extra charming.</p><p>But then there’s this girl. </p><p>She sits on the same barstool every Thursday, sad and mysterious. Yang doesn’t even know her name, but she wants to. </p><p>Yang wants a lot when she looks at her.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>113</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>283</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Bumbleby Big Bang 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. partly sunny</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Featuring art by the incredible <a href="https://catalyswitch.tumblr.com/post/634438765441662976/and-heres-the-artwork-i-did-for-the">catalyswitch</a>! </p><p>(But maybe don't click until you've read chapter one.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>Fridays are the worst. </p><p>Everyone’s so eager to get wasted — half of them angry that they’re not feeling it already, and blaming Yang for the drinks she pours. They talk too loud, stand too close, and scream over the calm piano music. </p><p>Someone laughs, another swears, and a glass shatters. </p><p>Suddenly Ruby is there, crouched in the dark with just the flashlight on Jaune’s cell phone to pick out the shards of glass, sharp edges reflecting the light. He stopped on his way back from clearing a table close to the stage — a small tip and too much mess — and now he’s hovering close to Ruby’s back, protective as the crowd that surged away at first starts settling in again.</p><p>“Hey,” Yang calls from her place behind the bar. “Give her room.” </p><p>“Excuse me,” she can hear her sister’s voice saying from somewhere down below, face briefly lit up in a shaft of light directed by Jaune before she’s in the dark again. Yang can just picture the way her sister must be tapping someone’s foot. “Can you move your— thanks!”</p><p>Another body slides into place up at the bar, completely blocking Ruby from view. </p><p>She smiles, all teeth, and Yang shifts back into action. “What’ll it be?”</p><p>“Manhattan, please.” </p><p>“Sure thing.” </p><p>The motions are nearly mechanical now. Yang knows every bottle at the back of the bar by touch, which helps when you’re working in the mood lighting her uncle’s so fond of. Everything has its place, precise and laid out. She’s not a fanatic about stuff — not the way that Weiss is, for instance — but it helps to get through the night. </p><p>Pour the ice, listen for the rattle — even if at the back of her mind she’s still focused in on the traces of Ruby’s voice as she picks her way along the floor — add vermouth and bitters. </p><p>“Preference?” she asks and gestures to the whiskeys lined up at the back.</p><p>“Uh.” The woman squints, then shrugs. “Something strong.”</p><p>Yang reaches for a mid-tier price and pours. </p><p>The girl looks young but put together, like she can afford it. </p><p>She cuts the orange peel and lightly hip-checks Ruby on her way to deposit the broken glass in the trash can to Yang’s left.</p><p>“Please take five.” </p><p>“Sure, I could do that, no problem, but there’s a big spender at table six, and if I don’t stay on them it’s going to be Jaune, so do with that what you will.”</p><p>Yang’s eyes flick over to table six. They really do look like money. The obnoxious kind that sets her teeth on edge anywhere else in the world, but in here it’s something else. “Okay.” She sets the knife down on the counter and rubs the peel along the rim. “Close them out, but then a break. I mean it.” </p><p>Ruby’s already halfway there, dodging around another patron just on the verge of spilling their drink.</p><p>She knows Ruby isn’t going to listen; she won’t rest until they close out the whole place at 4am, but at least Yang tries.</p><p>That’s a Friday for you.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Fridays are the worst, but Saturdays are a close second.<p>The tips are better, at least on average, but Weiss is always in a bad mood after a long night of singing with only half the crowd (or less) listening to her. Never the sort of person to surrender, she just gets louder and louder — angrier and angrier — leaving little crescent moon fingernail marks against her palm that are still visible when she slaps a few bucks on the bar and asks for a quick round.</p><p>She’s been doing this almost every single Saturday for the three and a half years that they’ve known her, so you’d think she’d be used to it. </p><p>She took it more in stride in the beginning, when it was just her and the piano.</p><p>The sign had been hanging on the front window with no interest for almost a month before Ruby decided to post an ad online; Weiss came in to audition the very next day. None of them knew enough about how this kind of music is supposed to sound, but it felt pretty good to Yang.</p><p>“You’re hired,” Uncle Qrow had said, without even looking up from the receipts from the night before.</p><p>Weiss pursed her lips. She looked offended, but she didn’t say so.</p><p>Not then, at least.</p><p>The piano had been Qrow’s idea, so it was ultimately his call, however disinterested he seemed in the end result. He said it might draw in the kind of classy clientele who know how to tip, and that was the point. It turns out the people who wear the most expensive watch always pay out the least, unless you mark it up on the bill itself. Creative accounting. </p><p>That’s another trick Yang would learn from Weiss, once they finally started talking. </p><p>It took a few weeks.</p><p>She used to sit there so detached and calm, ice princess who didn’t give a shit that half the crowd wasn’t listening. She’d just get lost inside the twisting landscape of chords and progressions, climbing up the scales and down again with a focus on her face that grew tighter and tighter. It made Yang think of those sharp cables underneath the lid of the piano. </p><p>“Too bad you can’t sing,” Qrow said one night while counting out the tips into carefully stacked piles. </p><p>He was the only one that was supposed to handle the cash at close, but some nights he passed out in the back and Ruby took it upon herself to do the accounting instead.</p><p>That’s probably why she’s perched so tense on her bar stool now, mouthing to herself as she counts right along with him — checking and double checking the math. Some habits don’t really break, they just evolve.</p><p>But then there’s Weiss. The way she looks at Qrow has stayed pretty consistent all this time. </p><p>You could call it detached, except for the barely hidden disgust. “I can.”</p><p>He stops with a $10 bill hovering over one of the stacks of money and blinks. He looks up — Ruby mutters a number to herself, over and over, pretty sure her Uncle’s just lost count — and he says, “You can what?”</p><p>“Sing.” Weiss folds her arms in front of her chest. “I can sing.”</p><p>“So how come you don’t?” He sets the stack he was counting down close to the other piles and Yang can see the way Ruby’s eyes track every movement. “Suddenly shy or something?”</p><p>Weiss sniffs. “Of course not. But you never asked, and obviously it would cost more.”</p><p>If it wasn’t likely to come out of her own cut, Yang would have to respect the hustle. </p><p>“Obviously.” </p><p>By now Ruby is actually standing right at Qrow’s side where she’s resumed counting on his behalf, reaching an arm around either side of his waist to grab, shift, and rearrange the piles of money. “Maybe if you just started out with one song sometime.” She folds one stack of bills and hands it off to Yang. “You know, just to see how it feels singing up there.”</p><p>“Am I in your way?”</p><p>“A little bit, yeah, but I’m managing.” Ruby doesn’t even waste a glance back at Uncle Qrow as she slips and shuffles around him to hand the next stack off to Weiss, saying, “So what are you thinking? Do you have a favorite genre? Everyone does, I guess, but not all of them are things you can sing. Like the classical music you usually play. Not really a lot of vocals in that.” She gasps. “Unless you know latin operas!” </p><p>Weiss had adjusted to Ruby’s relentless intensity faster than most people, so she no longer looked alarmed or flinched whenever it happened in (really) close proximity. “I suppose I could find accompaniment.”</p><p>She said it just like that, as though the thought had only occurred to her then.</p><p>About a week later, a tall redhead showed up to play along with Weiss at the early evening rehearsal just before open.</p><p>Yang had thought it was all luck and good timing, maybe the kind a musician always has.</p><p>But the way it started to change Weiss and her mood — how she started to care a whole lot more about the crowd and whether they listened — began to seem like something more. Like Pyrrha wasn’t someone Weiss just happened to run into.</p><p>Not that Weiss is some kind of super genius mastermind. </p><p>It’s more like she’s really, really focused. Even the way she watches Pyrrha’s hands when she plays is a sort of quiet fascination, so far away from those weekend crowds with all their noise and catcalling.</p><p>One night one of the men gets too close to the piano (and to Pyrrha) and Jaune has to step in to pull Weiss off of him. </p><p>It’s focus, with something else on the side.</p><p>“Hey, come on,” he yelps, taking an elbow to the face. “You’re going to stain your dress…”</p><p>Nobody likes Saturdays.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>On Tuesdays, there’s a different band every week, as long as someone’s available. That started about a year ago when they hired Nora for booking talent and overall promotion — which involves taking photos of the staff standing around behind the bar that she insists are for their Instagram, but almost never end up posted.<p>Yang thinks Nora must derive some kind of sadistic pleasure out of bossing all of them around. </p><p>Weiss used to complain (loudly) until Nora started positioning her ever closer to Pyrrha. One particular photo taken after close at 4:12am had her draped across the piano, nearly sprawled in Pyrrha’s lap. Weiss asked to have that one texted to her.</p><p>She complained less after that.</p><p>The marketing side is hit and miss, but the music is solid. People show up, at least. Nora picks the acts from an ever growing pool of artists and “free thinkers” that she knows in a variety of ways that might extend to biblically. </p><p>Ren doesn’t comment, but Yang doesn’t really ask either. Not that those two have ever been clear on how official they are.</p><p>He’s her boyfriend, maybe, who works the front door four nights a week. The rest of the time, he’s still hanging out — standing way too close to Nora’s spot at the sound board to be good for his ears all night — but he’s harmless enough. Nobody asks him to leave, not anymore. Qrow used to give him such a hard time about it, saying,  <i>”Go home, kid, it’s like you live here,”</i> but nobody else says a word now that their uncle isn’t even in most nights. </p><p>Nora’s the only person who knows how to make Ren smile, even over all the noise of whoever’s rocking out on stage, and that’s probably worth more than a good night’s rest on most days.</p><p>Sometimes home is a shitty bar with plenty of room for improvement.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>The bar had been a dream of Uncle Qrow’s for most of Yang’s life. It existed long before she was legally allowed to spend time inside during the hours of operation — not that the legality of it mattered to anyone much. She and her dad were helping Qrow clean up after last call when she was still too small to see over the bar.<p>Ruby was there too some nights, but her curiosity made her a bit of a hazard. There’s a whole lot of glass inside any bar, even the total dives, and this place had its own bit of added class.</p><p>Dramatic lighting and candles in little jars at every table, that kind of thing. It took Yang several months to realize — to her massive disappointment — that the candles themselves were all fake. They were just little lights that flickered and looked a little more realistic obscured by the glass of the jars. </p><p>It took Ruby just under fifteen minutes on her first night inside the bar before she tried to light something on fire.</p><p>Her huff of disappointment and disgust was very loud.</p><p>Even before looking, the whole family knew that sound. It always meant trouble, at a minimum, and sometimes a minor explosion. Like that time Ruby decided to fix the TV by popping open the back panel with a fork; she nearly fried her brain and started a small fire that left Zwei terrified of loud noises for the rest of his life.</p><p>“Tai, could you please—” Qrow was still in the process of stepping around from his spot behind the bar when his expression froze in place.</p><p>Yang turned her head to look.</p><p>Almost a full thirty seconds had passed since they heard the gasp, so Ruby had already moved on from minor attempts at arson to shimmying up the side of the nearest table to examine the candles close up. She closed her small hand over the fake flame, gripping it tight, and looked very disappointed when she pulled her hand back still in one piece and not on fire.</p><p>“Shit,” dad said. </p><p>He dropped a glass and it shattered all over the floor. </p><p>Ruby leapt back to her feet and laughed with triumph. “Shit!” </p><p>She stomped and the table rattled.</p><p>She swayed and looked alarmed, hands flailing out in ever widening circles.</p><p>Yang’s shoes crunched over the glass as she ran to catch her shaking, stumbling, falling sister, but dad got there first.</p><p>“Oof,” Ruby gasped as her plummet to the floor jolted to a stop midway down, suspended almost upside down in dad’s arms. She giggled, completely unimpressed, and waved her arms even more. “Shit!”</p><p>Nobody asked Ruby to help out at the bar for years after that — not until she was almost in high school — so maybe it was ultimately a brilliant strategy that only backfired on Yang. By then dad was more actively involved in the nightly running of the family business, and everyone just politely tried to pretend they didn’t know what was going on with Qrow.</p><p>Passed out in the back room or hungover and losing focus, he spent a couple years — maybe something more like four or five — running off any members of the staff that actually knew what they were doing who’d started to make some kind of difference. </p><p>It ran in cycles of renewed energy and excitement followed by crushing disappointment.</p><p>Like the time he decided to rename the whole place Summer’s End, complete with a redesigned neon sign, only to spend 80% of that marketing budget on one very long weekend bender only a week and a half later when reality caught back up again. He fired their best bartender just two days after that, since they’d apparently missed the news that he wasn’t going ahead with changing the name to a direct and honestly pretty fucked up reference to Yang’s dead mom — Qrow’s long time friend — and they dared to say the name to him one too many times.</p><p>Still hard to picture what he had imagined the cocktail napkins looking like or how any of that would really be okay. He didn’t even bother to warn Ruby before the sign specs showed up when she was sorting through the mail the next Friday. All Yang knows is her kid sister was going through papers in the back and suddenly she was storming out, eyes red and face scrunched up like she’s fighting off a million bubbling impulses, all bad.</p><p>“Hey, what’s—?” she started to ask, but Ruby just barreled past without a word.</p><p>Yang found the opened envelop on the counter along with a stack of unpaid bills. </p><p>And that was it.</p><p>She’d watched it all happening from the sidelines with growing annoyance, but hurting her sister was one busted up bridge way too fucking far. That was the day she lost her patience half-way through her shift and dumped a bucket of ice directly onto his head. </p><p>Qrow sputtered and sat up straight. He pushed back his now damp hair once, twice, way too many times. “There better be a damn good reason you just ruined my whole evening, kid.”</p><p>Yang threw the bucket aside to clatter against the wall without a glance. “More like fifty of them, since that’s how many people are out front now and your staff is overwhelmed and you’re back here passed out. Again.” </p><p>The way he looked at her, almost like he’d seen a ghost, she would always wonder later if he was seeing her mom standing there yelling instead of her.</p><p>He laughed in a soft and sad way, like he was fighting not to cry.</p><p>That was also the night she was put in charge, a sort of temporary single night’s assignment that’s lasted for almost four years. Yang can’t help but wonder now, looking back, if the only reason he didn’t hand the job to her sooner is she was only recently old enough to serve drinks behind the bar herself.</p><p>Ruby still had to stay on the other side, technically, although not a lot stopped her from coming back there to inspect the labels or ask questions when way too many eyes were around. </p><p>Like just about everything else in this place, it was a work in progress.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Qrow not spending every single night inside a bar started to do wonders. He wasn’t exactly living his best life, but it was better than it had been in years. He even sobered up enough to make smart business decisions, like sending Yang to daytime classes to learn how to bartend.<p>Turns out that mixology is an art form and it’s not all just attitude and a winning smile.</p><p>But her smile sure is a solid start. Some nights she gets almost as many phone numbers as she does ten dollar bills to take home. She doesn’t make a habit of calling any of them, better not to fish where you eat. Something like that?</p><p>There’s a dumb cliche for every situation, something to slide across the bar along with a thin napkin with their still official logo on it — <i>Rusty CrowBar</i> in thick blocky red letters — and a little wink for added impact.</p><p>It’s worked for years. </p><p>Every night, every week, like clockwork.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Wednesdays are their own rhythm. You could set your watch by it, if you still wore one.<p>Yang does. It looks good, draws eyes to her wrists, her hands, her fingers, or the way her arm flexes pushing drinks across the bar. She’s got a different look for most occasions. It’s the only thing she bothers to invest her money in outside of the bar itself or helping out with Ruby’s education through extra cash she passes to dad. None of them talk about that, though.</p><p>Not even Ruby. </p><p>Especially not Ruby. She’s got enough to worry about.</p><p>Her hardest class this semester is on Wednesdays, so she shows up half out of her mind but determined to work through the anxiety. </p><p>Ask Yang if she’s proud of her sister and of course she’ll say yes. But ask her to explain her current degree, and it gets a little harder. Ruby’s majoring in something to do with city planning with a minor in some kind of social science. Her focus is on renewable energy. </p><p>The Wednesday professor is the kind of guy with an excess of knowledge and too little idea of how to give any of it to his students. He talks until the class is already over, and then he talks a little longer. The way Ruby explains it, he’s overflowing every second with too much data and analytics, eager to share his thoughts on rooftop gardens and energy consumption. Sometimes she comes in with ink peeking out at the wrists of her shirt sleeves — half-scribbled notes she jotted down when something else occurred to him after she’d already put her laptop away. </p><p>It should probably be exhausting, but some of those nights Ruby’s her most energetic. </p><p>She’s bouncing — on the balls of her feet and nearly off the walls — and reciting things under her breath like an idea just came to her so exciting she’s afraid to risk forgetting it. In some ways it’s not totally different from how she is the rest of the time and that high speed energy that Ruby always carries with her, but something about those halfway nights make her step extra wide and wobbly as her focus drifts and spins.</p><p>Her mind is racing with possibility and thoughts of the future, so the now gets fuzzy.</p><p>Yang gestures and Jaune follows close behind, replacing this drink or that and correcting tabs before the customer has time to gasp over the price.</p><p>Something about the chaos is comforting in its consistency.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Thursdays are one of those nights where Ren doesn’t work, but he’s here anyway.<p>This night in particular, he and Nora are arguing about something — meaning she’s talking louder and louder, almost audible even over the pounding speakers, and he just watches with a fond and patient smile — and whatever it is has even got Ruby’s attention since she stopped serving tables in favor of leaning in to shout something almost as loud right back.</p><p>Most nights, Yang would send someone over to get Ruby back to work, but just now she doesn’t mind the relative privacy.</p><p>Because she’s here again.</p><p>She comes in every few weeks or so — sad girl sitting by herself at the end of the bar in torn up jeans and big black boots.</p><p>There are dark circles under her eyes like she doesn’t sleep enough, but that’s a lot of their regulars, especially the ones her age. She looks young, at least. Soft features and thin but earnest smile (there and then gone in a blink), but there’s something else in her posture that says differently. Every once in a while, just out of the corner of her eye, Yang sees the way her shoulders slouch and she thinks no one their age should have so much weight to carry.</p><p>A girl who’s already seen too much in a lifetime that’s just getting started.</p><p>Her nail polish is chipped. Ruby says she probably bites her nails, but Yang thinks not. A girl like that is probably way too classy. Could be she’s just too busy doing important things to get around to reapplying.</p><p>Whatever those important things might be.</p><p>Yang still doesn’t know. She’s just about the only person who stops by a bar and doesn’t offer any stories about herself or her sad sack life. Instead she asks about Yang, her sister, her life. What’s even weirder is how it all comes out. </p><p>This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.</p><p>How it works (how it’s always worked), is folks come in, Yang pours a drink, she winks, sometimes there’s added flexing and a smile, they tell her their stories, and she slides them a tab at the end of the night. Sometimes it ends early or it ends late, but all of it happens about the same every time.</p><p>But not so with no name mystery girl who only pays in cash. </p><p>She smiles behind her hand and asks simple indirect questions about Yang’s ambitions “after all of this,” like she imagines Yang’s life is some kind of big unwritten story with chapters left untold instead of an endless cycle of the same old shit, Monday to Sunday, every week the same.</p><p>She asks, and Yang wants to answer, even if she doesn’t have one ready to give.</p><p>“Not everything has an after.” Yang smiles but feels almost guilty in a way she can’t pin down. It’s more of an answer than most would get — even the ones who have been coming here for years — but the way those open honest eyes look at her, she just wants to offer up everything. Spill her guts on top of the bar, in between the cocktail shakers and cherries.</p><p>Crazy stupid shit like that. Maybe she should send Katt over to bring Ruby back after all, to keep her grounded and sane. </p><p>Instead, she says, “But what’s next for you?” </p><p>Not like Yang even knows what’s now. But maybe one of these days, the questions will lead to something. Maybe not answers, not directly, but some kind of vague outline that she can imagine a person into.</p><p>Or maybe Yang is over investing in some girl who stops in for drinks a couple times a month so far.</p><p>The bar stool creaks and scrapes as she leans in closer over the bar. “Yang?”</p><p>She learned Yang’s name on the very first night she came in, and she’s never forgot it, never faltered. </p><p>Now she knows all of their (admittedly limited) family tree, except for the gnarled and snapped off mom issues branches that long ago dropped in the dirt.</p><p>Unimportant.</p><p>From the look on her face, she’s actually waiting for an answer, or at least some clear acknowledgement outside of Yang just staring at her with a blank look of too much focused concentration — on her hair, her eyes, the way she smells like liquor and something strangely metallic that tugs all these questions to the front of Yang’s brain that she’s too uncertain to ask, which is so not her style — and she’s still looking, still waiting, so what Yang says is, “Yeah, gorgeous?” </p><p>Pet names are all Yang’s had to go on, but she tosses in a playful wink to make sure mystery girl knows she really means it.</p><p>Just a little further down the bar, she hears Ruby audibly groan. No idea when she made it back over to this side of the room, but it’s not helping.</p><p>“I think your sister needs you…” </p><p>Yang doesn’t want to pull her eyes away, as stupid as it sounds. “Oh, she’s probably—” There’s a soft rattling sound followed by a yelp. Then several crashes of glass shattering, very close by. Yang winces, without looking. “She isn’t fine, is she?”</p><p>“No, not at all.”</p><p>By the time Yang’s finished cleaning the broken bottle off the floor — and sent Ruby to the back to change after the top shelf bourbon that shattered at her feet soaked into her jeans — the cash is there, but the girl is gone. </p><p>She always tips heavy, which makes Yang feel kind of cheap. Payment for services and attention rendered.</p><p>It’s useful, at least. A reminder of what this actually is between them.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>What this is: a really big mistake written in clear neon lighting that Yang’s obviously going to ignore.<div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>After a while, it isn’t just Thursdays.<p>The first time she’s there on a Saturday night and hears Weiss singing as Pyrrha plays, her whole expression shifts and changes. Not just her face really, but all of her. It’s like something inside is releasing some long held tension, a valve letting off steam.</p><p>She smiles and for once it doesn’t leave her face when she notices Yang looking.</p><p>“She’s good,” the girl says. </p><p>“They’re good together,” Yang answers back. She’s not sure why she wants to make the distinction, but it feels important.</p><p>Worth mentioning how people can help and make each other better. </p><p>It’s not just some line, of course. </p><p>Weiss has become better since playing with Pyrrha. Not just a better musician, but in some ways honestly a better person. More calm and collected. She hasn’t even raised her voice over Qrow in all this time since Pyrrha started showing up, and there have been plenty of reasons. </p><p>Just something about the tall girl calms and centers Weiss.</p><p>Not like she’ll ever be someone completely without stress, but it’s proof that change is possible. Even in the incredibly uptight. </p><p>“Do you think that really happens?”</p><p>It takes Yang a moment to realize that the girl is talking to her, because her eyes haven’t left the stage. </p><p>“Do I think what does?”</p><p>“People changing together, for the better.” She taps her fingers on the bar, chipped black nail polish catching the light. “Instead of making each other worse.”</p><p>There’s a story there. </p><p>Maybe it’s because Yang knows her own fucked up past and the kind of openings a person can offer and then instantly regret — like an invitation to ask invasive questions — that stops her from pursuing further.</p><p>No matter how much she might want to.</p><p>“I know it does.” She props her elbows on the bar, leaning closer. There’s a wet mark puckering her elbow, but she ignores it. It’s her own fault for not wiping the counter down better between serving, and pulling away now wouldn’t look smooth at all. “I’ve known Weiss a while. I’ve seen it.” </p><p>“Weiss,” the woman says, very carefully, like she’s trying out the sounds. “… That’s a pretty name.” </p><p>It’s another opening, and this one Yang can’t help but try out.  “Yeah,” she starts, speaking low, steady, and slow. Her eyes are on the woman’s face — dark golden eyes, dark black hair, and dark complexion with a dark red slash of a mouth she can’t help watching now — when she says, “And what’s yours anyway?”</p><p>The frown starts in an instant, even if she tries to hide it after. “… my?”</p><p>“Your name.”</p><p>Her hand slips from the bar top, and Yang knows in an instant that she’s pushed too far. </p><p>Because the girl is reaching for her wallet, and pulling out the cash she owes. </p><p>She’s got the prices memorized, only slightly slower than she learned everybody’s name.</p><p>“Hey, sorry, look—”</p><p>The girl’s shoulders are hunched and her hands are already back in her pockets. “No, it’s fine. It makes sense.” She laughs, but nothing seems funny. “People ask that kind of thing.” </p><p>“But it’s fine if you don’t want to say.” Yang nudges the cash back across the bar. “You don’t have to close out yet. Not if you don’t want to.” </p><p>She shakes her head firmly and steps back. </p><p>At least now she’s looking Yang in the eyes. “No, I should go. I have a work meeting in the morning.”</p><p>The first real indication she actually has a job. “Some other time then.” </p><p>The woman nods and walks away. She makes it four steps to the door before turning back. “Next Saturday.”</p><p>Yang nods. “I’ll introduce you to Weiss.”</p><p>It’s impossible to be sure across the darkness of the bar, but Yang could swear the girl starts to blush. </p><p>And then she’s gone.</p><p>From the stage, Weiss is still singing, and Pyrrha’s fingers don’t falter at all.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Next Saturday, she’s there. A woman of her word.<p>Even with the promise to talk to Weiss later, some future event on the horizon, she is present in a way few people ever are. She looks at you like she’s really listening to each and every word, not just waiting for another chance to talk. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t really like to talk about herself — not like most people love to — but she gives you so much room. She listens and doesn’t judge; she barely even interjects. She only asks more questions.</p><p>All she asks of you is honesty. Openness. </p><p>What she gives in return is a strange sense of calm, and maybe something else. When Yang looks at her smiling in the dim lighting of the bar, the way she tosses her hair back from her face, she’s certain that there is something else.</p><p>“It’s nice that this is such a family business,” she’s saying, not just to fill the silence with words but because she really means it. “Even with Weiss.” She turns her head to watch the two of them — Weiss and Pyrrha — and the way they are together. “You talk about her like she’s family too.”</p><p>“Well, I guess she is. Kind of.”</p><p>She turns her head back to Yang and smiles warmly. “That’s uncommon, you know. Even businesses that are owned by families don’t always feel this way.”</p><p>Yang braces her elbows on the bar and leans closer. “Oh, yeah? You’ve seen a lot of family owned businesses in your day?”</p><p>If she didn’t know better, she’d actually say the woman blushes (again) before she looks away.</p><p>She says, “Where I come from, everyone sort of knows each other. There’s a lot of family, but not closeness.”</p><p>Yang tries to picture what else is there behind the words. The place she’s from and the people that lived there. What her family’s like or her childhood. </p><p>She’s given so few details, so Yang tries to sketch them in. Or maybe draw a few of them out. “Small town?”</p><p>“In the beginning.”</p><p>She wants to ask more, but Weiss is close to wrapping up her set, and Yang did promise an introduction. “Katt, watch the bar for me, okay?” </p><p>Katt glances up, briefly, and then focuses back on the bottles of vodka she’s sorting under the cabinet. “Sure thing, boss.” If she understands what’s going on, she doesn’t say anything to suggest it. </p><p>Not that Yang really knows what’s going on either.</p><p>She steps around the bar and eases her way slowly through the press of bodies in the crowd until she’s right at the girl’s side. From this side of the bar, away from the light, she’s even more obscured. Dark hair spills down across a dark leather jacket, and she doesn’t  turn when Yang approaches. Not at first. </p><p>“You still want to meet her? It’s cool if you don’t.” </p><p>Maybe Yang is going to say more, some reassurance, but then she turns. </p><p>She turns and she smiles and every other word that’s inside of Yang’s head vanishes, just like that. </p><p>“No,” she says. “I want to.” </p><p>And Yang wants to give her what she wants, she realizes. As crazy as it sounds.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>The introductions happen sort of in a blur. Looking back, Yang’s not sure how she introduced someone to Weiss whose name she doesn’t know. It’s weird the way that exactly what was said doesn’t seem to matter after.<p>What matters is the way they all look like they’re getting along. </p><p>Weiss is talking to her like she almost never does with strangers. She looks at ease. </p><p>More than once, Yang glances over and she swears that Weiss is actually laughing at something?</p><p>Yang didn’t realize that the mystery girl even did jokes. </p><p>But there’s a lot that Yang doesn’t know. Sometimes she forgets how little she knows, because it feels like it’s already been forever. Because when they catch each other’s eyes across the bar, Yang feels something pass between them.</p><p>She thinks that she should look away, but she doesn’t. </p><p>Neither of them do. </p><p>Not until Weiss says something that draws her back in. Now both of them are smiling, and mystery girl is laughing.</p><p>Yang thinks again how much she likes it when that happens.</p><p>Maybe she isn’t sure what this is, not exactly, but it might not be the disaster that she was so sure it had to be. </p><p>Maybe everything is going to turn out all right.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>“She’s nice,” Weiss says at the end of the night, while Yang is counting out her cash. “But you need to get a name. I’m starting to feel rude.”<p>“You two going to talk a lot more after this?”</p><p>Weiss takes her wad of cash and counts it again. She does this every time, and Yang is long past feeling offended. “Of course we are. She’s a pleasant conversationalist.” She looks up. “I’ll take Pyrrha’s cut too.”</p><p>“Weiss.”</p><p>“I’ll have you know, she asked me to.” </p><p>Yang looks in the direction of their usual table (close to the piano) where Pyrrha is watching expectantly. “… sure.” She starts counting out a second stack. “So you two have finally talked?”</p><p>Weiss sniffs, slips her cash into her purse, and folds her hands into her pockets. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”</p><p>“I’m sure you do, but that’s fine.” </p><p>Yang looks back over at Pyrrha, who’s just openly staring at Weiss now.</p><p>Weiss turns to see where Yang is looking and immediately gets flustered. She scoffs and fusses with her hair; she pushes it back, anxiously tousles it, then pushes it back again. </p><p>Yang tries not to let herself get distracted mid-count by the dramatics of it, though she definitely starts to smirk.</p><p>“Are you <i>quite</i> finished counting?” </p><p>“Yeah, almost.” </p><p>Suddenly Ruby’s there, head poking in over Weiss’s shoulder. “You two almost done? I promised Jaune I’d take him for waffles at the diner.”</p><p>“Well, I was, but I just lost count.”</p><p>“Oh! Sorry.” </p><p>Yang starts counting again and Weiss groans, loudly, looking like she’s contemplating either minor assault or melting directly into the floor.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>In the end, Weiss re-counts it anyway before taking the money to Pyrrha, whose hand immediately moves to graze (briefly) across the small of Weiss’s back.<p>Yang notices Jaune staring before Ruby hooks her elbow through his arm and drags him out the door.</p><p>But Pyrrha and Weiss don’t seem to see any of it. Nothing but each other.</p><p>Yang’s happy for them, even if it’s taken what feels like half a lifetime.</p><p>Everyone moves at their own pace.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Their own pace — if you can even say there’s a them — is pretty unique.<p>It feels fast in the way that Yang has started to seek her out, to look for her every night. It’s fast in the way it feels to turn and see her sitting there. The way her smile can change Yang’s whole night for the better, lighting her up like a battery.</p><p>The impact of her being here has accelerated quickly.</p><p>But it’s slow in other ways too. Month three, and Yang knows every inch of her face, the way it changes when she smiles, but she still doesn’t know her name. It’s strange how much it doesn’t start to matter, because everyone knows who Yang means when she says “her.”</p><p>She always just means <i>her</i>. </p><p>She can tell she’s getting obvious from the way Ruby’s eyebrows move up and down, saying, “So when are you going to meet her somewhere outside the bar? Like maybe in daylight hours.” </p><p>“Unless she’s a vampire,” Weiss calls from where she’s arranging piano music with only half her attention on the task and the rest on spying.</p><p>“Ooh, you should try a mirror!” </p><p>But Yang’s seen enough to know she’s real.</p><p>She’s watched her step into the crowd, casting shadows on the floor. She’s seen the way her reflection bends through the bottom of a glass of whiskey. Even refracted over and over in angles of melting ice, distorted and drawn out, she’s beautiful.</p><p>Maybe Yang’s been looking too closely; she’s turning melodramatic and dumb.</p><p><i>”Turning?”</i> she knows Weiss would say, which is probably why she keeps the more sentimental ideas to herself. Everyone knows you don’t get feelings for a regular, especially flaky weird ones who don’t leave a name.</p><p>But the barstool creaks when she settles into it, and even that sound is becoming familiar. Yang notices the spaces she occupies and the places where she isn’t. She notices her absence even sharper than her presence.</p><p>Shit.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>“So what’s next?” she asks one night with her mouth curling in a smile.<p>“There’s a DJ set and then Weiss comes back out.”</p><p>From the look on her face, that wasn’t the real question. If Yang’s honest with herself, she knew that. Most people don’t push for more, especially not from her. She gives the smile, the wink, and they settle for the easy flirtation. They take the easy answer and nod.</p><p>But not her.</p><p>She leans closer, and Yang thinks she smells like something she can’t put her finger on: campfire and smoke; grease and something stronger. Some kind of flower. </p><p>Maybe Ruby would know its genus. </p><p>“I know the set list.” Her tongue grazes over the edge of her teeth. “You might want to work on changing that up, by the way.”</p><p>The realization that Yang is staring at her mouth too long causes her to look away. </p><p>She focuses in on the glass she’s drying. “You meant me?”</p><p>“I meant you.”</p><p>At this point she’s just rubbing the same damp circles over and over. She should go grab another cloth; this one’s clearly soaked through.</p><p>She should—</p><p>“Yang.” Her hand is on Yang’s bicep, and just as suddenly it’s not. She’s blushing — shit, Yang could watch that forever, imagine the heat building up under her skin, <i>shit shit shit</i> — and then looking away, hair falling in her face. She pulls out her wallet, maybe to have something else to do with her hands, and shoves a few more bills onto the bar. “Another round, and then you’ll give me an answer?”</p><p>“Sorry, I missed the question.”</p><p>She’s back to eye contact again, a little sharp and unimpressed, impatient. Even that looks cute. </p><p>Yang is so fucked.</p><p>“What’re your plans for the future? Going to bartend forever?”</p><p>“I’m kind of doing more than that.”</p><p>“For your uncle.”</p><p>“Well—”</p><p>“So this is what you wanted?” There’s another whiff of whatever that is when she leans closer. Lavender? Or maybe something sharper. “Long term?”</p><p>What’s the not weird way of asking Ruby to smell her sometime? All that time she’s spent studying those plants they use for roof gardens and green energy, she could probably nail down what the mystery woman’s special blend is in an instant.</p><p>Probably there is no not weird way. </p><p>For any of this.</p><p>Yang busies her hands making another drink, focuses on the weight of the bottle and the smooth curve of the glass under her fingers. “I guess I don’t think too far ahead.”</p><p>“You think you’re immortal, Yang?”</p><p>That draws her eyes back, focusing in on the girl’s teeth like she expects to see vampire canines poking out there after all, but thankfully they’re just the same as always. Bright white and half-visible behind the twist of a slow smile, the way her mouth moves over the words. How she huffs an exhalation of amusement the moment Yang says, “What, like a vampire?”</p><p>“Wow, you know, that didn’t even cross my mind, but I guess I’ve only seen you at night.”</p><p>The glass rattles with ice, like a rumble of Yang’s thoughts, all clattering together. She sets the flirty grin firmly in place when she looks up and winks, saying, “We could do something about that.”</p><p>That makes her draw back, barstool rattling, which is for the best. </p><p>It gives Yang some space.</p><p>“Do you answer anything seriously?”</p><p>Every glass in their bar makes its own kind of sound when it hits the wood, followed by that slow slide across the grain. It’s a certain familiar feeling, a rhythm of its own, keeping time with Pyrrha’s fingers up there on the piano. Yang gives herself a few seconds to feel it, the satisfaction, before wiping the condensation from her fingers off on her jeans. “I am serious. I haven’t got anything planned past this year.”</p><p>Ash. That’s the smell now. Yang can almost taste it on her tongue. </p><p>“Well, what if you could do anything?”</p><p>“Well, I can’t,” Yang says, more honest than she wants to be. Her heartbeat is so loud in her ears she nearly stumbles when she turns to walk away, focused on rearranging bottles behind the bar.</p><p>When she looks back, the bar stool is empty and so is the glass.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>It’s two weeks before the next visit.<p>When she shows up, her smile looks strained, distracted though she tries to hide it.</p><p>“The usual?” Yang only waits long enough for a nod before she starts to mix, her eyes evaluating every change of expression on the girl’s face. “Rough day at work?”</p><p>She’s asked before, and the answer was always another question.</p><p>But this time, she says, “Something like that.” </p><p>It’s the closest thing to anything that she’s given Yang so far. </p><p>She focuses in on her next answer, careful and slow. “You want to talk about it?”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>She doesn’t want to talk, but she doesn’t run either.<p>In fact she’s there until close. It’s the first time. Yang sees the way the others notice her still here, but they don’t comment. If anything, they avoid that end of the bar. It gives the two of them some privacy.</p><p>Until all the lights start turning on and Yang has to ask, “You got somewhere to go?”</p><p>“Sure,” she says, almost automatically. “Doesn’t everyone?”</p><p>“Not everyone.”</p><p>The look she gives Yang is startled. She struck something there, without meaning to. </p><p>There’s a vulnerability on her face that you see sometimes in a bar, naked and bare, but she must hide it better in the dark. It makes Yang pause, to want to ask more.</p><p>But Ruby is finally here, her voice soft (tentative) when she puts a hand on her sister’s lower back, saying, “I need to cash you out.”</p><p>Yang swallows and starts to say something — not just the total, not just the tab, but something more — but the girl is already pulling her money out. She’s handing it across the bar. </p><p>She’s starting to retreat. </p><p>“Hey—“ Yang says, too fast, too eager. Too needy. But at least it makes her stop. “Can I— I can walk you to the train or something.”</p><p>There are a few long moments when Yang’s certain that her mystery girl is going to turn her down. </p><p>But then a smile reaches her golden eyes and burns deep to the center of Yang. </p><p>“Sure,” she says.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>She doesn’t run away (for once), but she doesn’t offer a lot of answers either. It’s something in between.<p>The way their footsteps fall in time with each other and their shoulders almost collide. The way she almost laughs, soft and breathless, when Yang’s hand grazes her elbow to pull her down a side street. “This way, come on.” </p><p>“But—”</p><p>“I swear, it’s faster.”</p><p>And it would be if they didn’t keep meandering, almost stepping on each other’s toes, taking extra large steps to avoid the cracks in the sidewalk. </p><p>First it’s just Yang, taking really long strides, and then laughing at the way the other girl stares. “It’s bad luck, you know. When you step on a crack. It breaks your mother’s back.”</p><p>“I don’t—” But she stops there, looking lost and uncertain. </p><p>Until Yang takes her by the wrist, solid and sure. “Yeah, me either.”</p><p>They both take longer steps, one after another. </p><p>They’re not really running, but Yang still feels breathless, somehow.</p><p>It should be faster, but when they part ways the sun is starting to creep into the sky, long blue shadows cast in front of Yang as she walks the rest of the way home (alone).</p><p>When she falls into her sheets, she tries not to imagine long black hair pooling over the pillow beside her.</p><p>But the room smells like something. </p><p>Maybe it’s lavender.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>It’s month four, and Yang finally learns her name.<p>“It’s Blake,” she says, with a small smile on her face. “You just never asked.” </p><p>That doesn’t feel like it can be true, but Yang finds it hard to argue. “Sure.” She settles her elbows on the edge of the bar and feels herself sinking into Blake’s eyes. “So tell me something else.”</p><p><i>Her eyes are golden</i>, Yang thinks. <i>Like the sunset.</i></p><p>Hot like the warm center of a flame, but very suddenly frozen in fear. </p><p>She goes still. “… oh.” Blake blinks and settles further back in her seat. Her face passes into shadow, and Yang can’t see her eyes anymore, or any expression at all. “Like what?” </p><p>If Yang didn’t know better, she could swear Blake is eyeing the exits, like they haven’t been in the same spot this whole time. “I don’t know.” She’s had enough time reading body language up close at the counter to know when you need to pull back too. So she does; she even physically withdraws. She picks up a glass and wipes it down, just to keep her hands busy as she casually leans away. “Just anything you want.”</p><p>Despite every instinct telling Yang to play it cool, she looks over again, searching for Blake’s eyes in the dark.</p><p>She could almost swear they’re glowing. “I wanted you to know my name.” The chair scrapes and she’s up and half-stumbling back for the door. “But I actually have to—I have to—” Blake doesn’t finish the thought. </p><p>She’s there and then she’s gone, rushing out the door, which is probably what she <i>had to</i> do. </p><p>Yang shrugs and finishes off the drink for her, almost untouched. </p><p>“Don’t be such a lush,” Weiss mumbles on her way to the stage, slapping Yang (hard) on the back.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>It’s a few more weeks before Blake stays long enough for another walk home and Yang doesn’t have to ask this time. Blake shrugs on her leather jacket and tilts her head the way a person does when they’re listening to a song they’re trying to remember the words to. Or maybe she’s waiting for the shift in a chord or a change in the time signature.<p>She waits, and then smiles. “Are you coming?”</p><p>“Since when are you so bossy?”</p><p>Blake looks like she might say something else, but she starts walking off instead.</p><p>Yang follows, just a few steps behind. </p><p> That whole time they walk together, footsteps drifting closer and closer, Yang is careful around the name.</p><p>She doesn’t really use it, but she thinks it every time she looks at her.</p><p><i>Blake,</i> she thinks, <i>is so beautiful.</i></p><p>The weather is starting to change and there’s a chill in the air. Yang tries not to shiver, but Blake must be watching her (closely) because she’s suddenly peeling her scarf away from her own neck and holding it out.</p><p>“No,” Yang says, automatically. “You’ll get cold.”</p><p>“I really don’t.”</p><p>They’ve both stopped walking now. </p><p>They’re not quite looking at each other, not directly, but their hands are almost touching.</p><p>“… if you’re sure.”</p><p>This time Blake does look. Her eyes are on Yang’s and she’s thinking again how bright golden they are, even if it doesn’t make sense. How much she’s like the sunlight, so maybe she really doesn’t feel cold. “I am.” Even her voice is warm when she draws closer, and Yang feels herself moving too. Gravitational, right, the way things are pulled around the sun. “Please, Yang.”</p><p>She nods, feeling kind of over dramatic and stupid. </p><p>Since when is she so lovesick over some customer who comes by every couple nights?</p><p>“Good,” Blake breathes out, the words curling into white mist in the air. She reaches out and wraps the scarf — black, soft, and so warm — around Yang’s neck herself, looping once, twice, an unnecessary third time that leaves her fingertips curled at Yang’s throat.</p><p>She doesn’t want to swallow too hard, doesn’t want to risk dislodging, but her body does what it wants right now. </p><p>First the shiver she’d tried to hide, and now she swallows.</p><p>Blake’s hands drop away and Yang really wants to grab one of them, as if she could help warm them. </p><p>Repayment, she tells herself, even if she knows it’s already more than that.</p><p>Instead, she flexes her palms, feeling almost useless and hyper aware of every inch of her skin that’s currently not touching Blake’s skin. “How’s it look?”</p><p>The way Blake stops, it’s like she’s really looking.</p><p>She blinks and studies Yang carefully. There’s a softness in her expression. It’s the way she looks at other people and sees more than their exterior. “Good. You look good in black.”</p><p>“Yeah, you too.”</p><p>There’s something that passes over Blake’s expression, like a storm cloud crossing over the sun. </p><p>It’s gone just as fast. Blink and maybe Yang just made it up. “It’s sort of my color.”</p><p>No, this was something, not only in her head. Because Blake is walking again now, without looking back to check that Yang follows.</p><p>Although she does. Of course, she does. </p><p>Even if she has to speed up to fall back in beside her, saying, “So you have somewhere to be in the morning?” It’s too much, pushing too fast, and she knows it when she hears Blake’s sharp breath in. “Shit, sorry, I’m—”</p><p>“I have work,” Blake cuts her off. “In the morning, pretty early.”</p><p>They’ve almost reached the train station, and Yang’s trying to slow them down but Blake keeps up her steady pace. If she wants answers, she’ll need to grab them fast. “Where do you work again?”</p><p>Blake missteps and nearly stumbles on the uneven sidewalk. Yang reaches out to brace her elbow, to offer help, but she pulls away. Hair’s falling in her face when she laughs, self-deprecating and unsure. “Um, I’ve never said?”</p><p>“You don’t say much.”</p><p>“Just a factory. Nothing special.” </p><p>The way her hair falls across her eyes makes them seem even brighter, Yang thinks. </p><p>“Doubt that somehow.” She waits, but Blake doesn’t say anything else. She turns and starts walking, still not looking back. Maybe that’s why Yang can get it out, letting the words loose against Blake’s back instead of that face, saying, “You seem kind of special.”</p><p>“You don’t have to use your lines when we’re not even in the bar, you know.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Yang’s breath fogs the air. “I know.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>They reach the train station way too soon and Blake only lingers long enough to stop Yang from unwinding the scarf.<p>“Give it to me next time,” she says, and gives the back of Yang’s hand a small squeeze.</p><p>“Next time?”</p><p>“Don’t make me repeat myself, Yang.”</p><p>A late night crowd of bar staff, cabbies, singers, and other degenerates finishing off their shifts wander past and Blake disappears inside the sudden press of people, like she was never there at all.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Next time comes sooner than Yang expects.<p>Next Friday, Blake is there. It’s not her normal night, but there are fewer patterns with her now, except in the ways she makes Yang feel. She smiles and it’s like a physical touch. Yang feels like that sunshine girl just sets her all on fire, easy as that.</p><p>Tonight she only stays for one drink before peeling off from the bar. </p><p>Weiss has just ended a set and moved to sit somewhere close to the stage while Pyrrha continues to play. Blake cants her head to indicate their direction.</p><p>She moves, and Yang realizes (stupidly) that she wants to follow. It’s not even desperation or possessiveness — not exactly — but a new and refreshing sense of curiosity. She wants to know more about this girl, what she says to other people when Yang isn’t there to hear. Who she is in different contexts, outside the dark.</p><p>Weiss looks startled but not displeased when Blake stops at her table. Suddenly the two of them are talking, like they’re old friends. Like Weiss is the kind of person who lets other people in uninvited. Maybe it’s about music — or Pyrrha — or anything else on the entire list of things that Weiss and Blake would have in common that Yang can’t even comprehend.</p><p>She’s turning into a self-absorbed (slightly jealous) maniac.</p><p>Too much of this has got way out of hand, beyond the scope of just a client or even just a normal crush. </p><p>Blake glances over from her table down in front. She smiles and Yang’s whole chest feels tight.</p><p>There’s too much there to unpack, but Ruby is back with orders from tables five and seven, alongside a string of additional observations ending somewhere at, “Do you think it’s supposed to rain before we close? Because I didn’t bring an umbrella, but I think Weiss might actually have two at all times. She’s that prepared.”</p><p>“I definitely haven’t checked the weather more recently than you have,” Yang says, and it’s honest enough to bring her mind right back to here and now, and the bottles in her hands.</p><p>She focuses and tries not to think about morning, or sunrise.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>But Blake doesn’t leave.<p>And it’s not a weeknight, is it?</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>By the time Ruby goes to close out the final tables, Weiss is just drunk enough that she’s leaning into the piano as Pyrrha collects her sheet music. Yang knows this whole game; she’s watched it play out plenty of times before. Weiss gets confident, almost cocky, but she retreats from any direct questions from Pyrrha.<p>Except.</p><p>Tonight she lingers, just a little. She leans closer, and her hair falls in her face, brushing along Pyrrha’s arm. She—</p><p>Is no longer the focus of Yang’s attention because Blake is back on her bar stool. “Your friends are so nice.”</p><p>“Plural?”</p><p>“Well, I guess Pyrrha and I don’t talk much, but I can feel it all there in her music. She’s kind.”</p><p>It’s the kind of absurd sentimental bullshit that Yang might normally want to make fun of, at least a little, from anyone but Ruby. Because with the kid, she means it. Most people say things like that just to say it, to sound smart and kind of self-assured, but Ruby would mean it.</p><p>And so does Blake. Somehow, even in this short time, Yang just knows.</p><p>“I paid your sister already,” Blake continues, cutting in through the mess of Yang’s thoughts. “I hope you don’t mind. Do you all just share the tips?” She laughs, soft and gentle, self-effacing. “I can’t believe all this time and I’ve never asked.”</p><p>“Yeah, we pool it all at the end of the night.”</p><p>“Wow, sounds like you get the bad end of that deal.”</p><p>That almost sounds like a really big and obvious come on, which isn’t usually Blake’s style. </p><p>That’s more Yang’s thing, like now when she grins. “I mean, I do pretty well, but I’m putting the kid through college, right?”</p><p>“I’m sure she’s very grateful.” Blake’s hand comes to rest on the top of the bar, halfway between the two of them.</p><p>Usually when she does that, she’s passing over change or pushing back her drink. There’s some action to accompany the gesture, a necessity. </p><p>But not now.</p><p>Now she’s just reaching out, across the gap between them.</p><p>Yang’s focus narrows to stacks of napkins she’s putting away for the night. She runs her fingers across their crisp sharp edges, carefully sorting, just to keep from reaching back. “So you got somewhere to be?’</p><p>Blake’s gaze is locked on the bar, head turned away, but Yang can still see the edges of her smile. “I don’t… work in the morning.”</p><p>Of all the things that Yang has wanted to know about her, all the questions she’s been on the verge of asking, this time she doesn’t need or want anything else. Maybe it’s selfish or maybe it’s stupid.</p><p>But all she says is, “Yeah, alright.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>They walk right past the train station without discussing it.<p>Yang turns her head to look, but just like that Blake’s hand is in hers.</p><p>Just like that, it’s forgotten.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Her whole apartment smells like Blake, whatever that is.<p>She’s no longer convinced it’s lavender. It’s something better, sweeter. </p><p>It’s flowers right after it rains, aching and eager, and shit she’s so pretty when she sits herself at the edge of the bed looking more shy and uncertain than Yang has ever seen her. Blake is still wearing her boots so Yang kneels at the side of the bed to pull them off. Her fingers still sting from the cold and fumble with the laces, so Blake takes them in both of hers and breathes warm air across the knuckles.</p><p>Her mouth is so close, hair dragging across the edges of Yang’s wrists, hands clasped in something almost like prayer, and Yang can’t take it anymore.</p><p>She drops to one knee to maintain her balance, one hand along the edge of Blake’s jaw, clasping gently. Reaching out as she presses closer, breathing in deeply. Her mouth is soft but her movements are sharp and sure, grabbing Yang and pulling her up and in. Only one of the boots is off but Blake kicks the other one loose as she falls back. </p><p>They tumble into the sheets together, and both of them laugh. The sound rumbles in Blake’s chest, vibrating against Yang’s touch. </p><p>She wants to feel more. </p><p>She fumbles with the layers, more clumsy than she’s been in years. She’s eager in the way she was when she was young, like all of this is new again. It is, in a way. Blake tastes new. </p><p>Even her expression — all those looks and glances that Yang has memorized over the months — is different now. When Yang tugs her jacket back and it catches on the angle of her elbow, briefly pinning Blake’s arms back against the bed, the way her mouth curls open and hangs, wide and wanting, is completely new. The sound she makes when Yang’s knee presses between her thighs, the way she arches (pushes) until her hands are clinging to the small of Yang’s lower back is different too.</p><p>They clatter together, rushing, hearts racing, and then collapse back again, both gasping.</p><p>Blake falls against the pillowcase, hair splayed out behind her in a cascade of velvety black and Yang lets herself slump into her, mouth against her throat, grazing over the sharp salt of her skin, the sweetness and sweat. </p><p>She tastes even better than the smell of her, already clinging to Yang’s sheets.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>There’s a rhythm to this, slow but steady, the way Yang fits inside her, the way Blake bucks beneath her.<p>The way her mouth opens and her back arches, the sheets stretching out and shifting underneath them. The headboard collides clumsily with the wall and the two of them pause, waiting for an impatient or angry knock from a neighbor. </p><p>When nothing comes, their momentum grows.</p><p>Yang fucks her, deep and long but gentle in her own steady way, until Blake comes undone underneath her. Blake’s hands grip across Yang’s back, scratching across taut and stretching muscles. She reaches, and falls back again.</p><p>She breathes out, and Yang does too. </p><p>Yang falls asleep to the sound of Blake’s steady breathing, nothing in her head but happiness and a sort of simple satisfaction.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>In the morning, the sunlight wakes Yang even before Blake does.<p>She reaches out across the bed and feels her, fingers fitting perfectly against the soft curves of her skin. </p><p>She reaches and feels something else too, soft and new and.</p><p>Yang stops. </p><p>She rubs her other hand against her face. She sits up slowly and looks across the bed.</p><p>Blake is there, dark and beautiful in the sunlight of early dawn.</p><p>All of her so striking, so vivid, especially those long black feathers. Wings stretch out from her naked back, shifting in mild agitation at the movement beside her, and then settle again along Blake’s muscular shoulders, calmly and carefully curled in close.</p><p>Yang stares for a long moment of confused and prolonged silence before she finally speaks, only saying, “Blake.”</p><p>That’s all it takes. The woman stirs.</p><p>She sits up slowly.</p><p>Her eyes meet Yang’s and something inside her goes very (very) still. </p><p>But on the outside, her wings unfurl like water pouring over the edge of a dame, suddenly sprung free. They stretch out like a thunderstorm behind her, blocking out the rays of sun peeking in through the window. “… Yang.” Her voice cracks. “I can explain.”</p><p>Yang blinks, but the wings are still there. </p><p>If anything, they feel more real (more vivid) as her vision comes further into focus. “… you really better start.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. gusty winds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Remember that art by <a href="https://catalyswitch.tumblr.com/post/634438765441662976/and-heres-the-artwork-i-did-for-the">catalyswitch</a> I mentioned?</p><p>Oh, yeah.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>When Blake first saw her at the bar, she stood out from everyone else. Golden hair and a smile to match, her voice carried across the room every time that she laughed.</p><p>She laughed a lot. Her smile reached her eyes, but only some of the time. When she thought no one was looking, she was smaller, like another person was underneath, waiting.</p><p>Blake needed to know more, and so she asked. It’s easy for her to ask and to listen, but talking is hard.</p><p>She never really learned how to do it well. Her tongue wasn’t made for such things.</p><p>They were not given mouths to speak their own pleas. There are many things she was unprepared to do with her lips, but she’s always been a quick study. </p><p>There is nothing she remembers wanting to learn more than this. </p><p>Even if she was unprepared for how sweet and soft everything about a woman can taste. Even the satisfaction of the bruises and scratches. It all settled in her mouth in the same way that chocolate melts and lingers after. And then came the morning, in stark sunlight.</p><p>How she stared with terrified confusion and Blake’s heart sank.</p><p>But before all that. </p><p>Far before.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>The earth is new and she is still young. She still smiles and laughs and watches the sunrise every morning with fresh and eager eyes. Her fingers sift through the sand and she imagines what will grow here. Possibility stretches out ahead, an eternity of everything.<p>And then.</p><p>The sands shift. Cities are formed and turned to dust. Empires rise and fall, with so much blood. She watches the sunset every night, as red as the forest on fire in the valley below. The people scream, and she watches in silence. She was not made or meant to speak.</p><p>And then.</p><p>He comes to her with wings as black as her own. Many of her kind are different, wings pale as snowfall, but she has never asked why. They are made to witness, to watch, never to question.</p><p>“What if we are meant for more?” he asks her.</p><p>She can’t recall ever being asked such a question. Though time can be an unsteady, shifting detail for their kind, this still feels like a first.</p><p>“We’re made to bear witness,” she says, automatic and steadfast.</p><p>“To suffer for nothing?”</p><p>“It’s not for nothing,” she says, even if she isn’t sure.</p><p>And then.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>He comes to her again. He’s there so many of her days now. The pattern of it, the consistency, gives new rhythm to her hours. The days slip past as they always have, a rushing river of time, but now she can mark it with the shifting twisting nature of their conversations.<p>He reminds her of the weather. He is the sand, just pulling away from her grasp. He is the wind, restless and wild. He is the burning sun, unbridled and often running hot. He changes, like the weather, from one instant to the next. He is never just the one thing.</p><p>It would be easier, he says, if he were only permitted to join in. There are some of their kind who walk alongside the humans. They are allowed to participate and enjoy little pleasures.</p><p>And others still are called in for judgement. There is the one they say is like the forest, ancient and steady, unyielding. He has chosen a name for himself — a luxury and anomaly — and so he is the Ironwood. He is coming today, to lay waste to the village they are seated in. </p><p>The town’s population, small as it is, feels so full to her, even if not one of them spares them a glance. They are not meant to be seen, and so they are not. They are only here to watch.</p><p>“I’d like to help,” she says, more honesty (and want) than she is meant to allow or to even feel at all.</p><p>But it’s so easy with him.</p><p>That night there is screaming and blood in the streets. The Ironwood has done his work well. The city is purged and harvested. New life will grow here. </p><p>She stares at the broken body of a young boy with blood forming underneath him. There is something inside her yearning for release, but she has never learned to scream. Her tongue was not made for such things. So she watches, as she was always meant to.</p><p>He paces at her side, anxious and filled with energy. When his hands flex, his wings follow after. They stretch out toward the sky like eager palms, wanting. He wants so honestly and openly that it sends a shiver up her spine. </p><p>It’s that energy that she wants. Just that. </p><p>She <i>wants</i> to feel free to want anything at all.</p><p>Her fingers shift, as though reaching for something through the air, in search of a meaning she can’t find. She knows there must be ash clinging to her skin, but she can’t see it clearly in the dark, and she feels nothing anymore. “I’d like to help,” she says again, her voice raw as though the screams she holds inside herself had been let out into the air.</p><p>As if she has finally found some release.</p><p>“We will.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>And then.<p>It isn’t really falling. You don’t slip and land. You simply walk. </p><p>You walk away. You don’t even have to run if there’s no one there to chase you.</p><p>But he was there.</p><p>Adam is the name he chooses for himself. “The first man, and now something more than that. Better.”</p><p>When he speaks she thinks she can hear the sound of distant thunder. His laughter is like a lightning strike. She thinks of fires burning in the distance and ash on her skin. “I’m not sure what I am yet.”</p><p>His eyes are cold and calculating. She’s always admired it, the way he has looked at so much for so many years and still can see so clearly. “I’m going to call you Belladonna.” </p><p>“Like the plant,” she says, pointless words just to get into the habit of speaking aloud more often. She has seen the plant used many times, by healer women who spent their lives caring for others only to end up burnt, hanged, drowned, or crushed in exchange for all the life they gave.</p><p>“You are going to grow into something lovely. I’m sure of it.”</p><p>Like those women who walked into the woods to gather their herbs, even knowing what had become of so many of their number, she senses that she should be afraid. But she was not built for fear. </p><p>She smiles and she says, “Thank you,” and it feels a little bit like prayer, the only thing her mouth was meant for.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>And then the thunder comes.<p>They are in an American town, bigger than some. The building is filthy, which feels like it suits her. It’s the first time they’ve found a place with only one bed. “You wanted a choice, didn’t you?”</p><p>She doesn’t remember saying so, but it’s true. The humans were made to choose and be chosen. To pick a life out of so many possibilities and follow it to its end. They were made to end, to infuse each action with meaning. </p><p>She was made only to be, endless and eternal, unchanging and unchosen.</p><p>But now she wants. </p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>From the look in his eyes, she knows that Adam wants too. “So choose to be with me.” He is seated on the bed, close to the edge, and it sags under his weight. The wings hover behind him, stretched out to their full distance, like clouds on the horizon. “Choose to let me touch you.”</p><p>She doesn’t know what else to say or what else she wants. So she says, “Yes.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>She is silent and still doesn’t know how to scream.<div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>The people see them now. She tries to smile as they pass in the street, but no one holds her gaze for long.<p>She thinks perhaps she wasn’t made for being held at all. </p><p>But he tries his best. He holds her down and keeps her still. He touches her wings, fingers plunging deeply between the feathers, and she feels it inside the very center of herself, like something being plucked and pulled away from the core. It should be pleasant. </p><p>It should be.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Adam says the world is falling apart more and more every day and there’s nothing they can do.<p>She frowns and watches his face, his cold and calm eyes. “Isn’t that why we left? We don’t have to watch it happen now.” He turns to look at her and she feels the cold sink inside herself. Her posture shifts, smaller now, and the words are fainter too. “I’d like to help.” </p><p>“There is nothing you or I can do.” </p><p>His hand is buried deep at the base of her wings so suddenly, pinning her inside herself.</p><p>She gasps. “That hurts—”</p><p>“Good.” His grip tightens. “Maybe that will help you understand.” </p><p>“Adam, please—”</p><p>“Pain is clarifying. We’ve seen it wash this world clean, over and over, and now it’s our turn to reap the rewards.” </p><p>She feels her heart beating fast in her own chest. She feels it in her throat. And at the center of herself, screaming with pain, she feels the years growing smaller in his shadow.</p><p>She thinks of the blood and the screaming in the streets. She had wanted to help, and so had he.</p><p>But now she sees it. What he had meant.</p><p>And who he wanted to help in the slaughter.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>You don’t fall all at once. It’s easier than that, but so much worse. You walk there, slowly, with your hand inside someone else’s. Or you take yourself there, piece by piece, pulling yourself apart until you can’t find any of what you started with.<p>Another new start doesn’t sound so bad after that.</p><p>He’s out somewhere prowling the streets, but he’s left his backpack by the bed. She knows he keeps a hunting knife stashed there, inside an inner pocket. She pulls it out and feels the weight in her hands. Her fingers flex and her wings extend.</p><p>She reaches back and holds herself firmly. </p><p>It aches at the center of her — the place where the guilt and shame from her wasted years all rest, in waiting — and she starts to cut. The scent of blood fills the room so thick, but it isn’t the same as when humans bleed. She soaks the sheets, a filthy mess, but in the morning no human who comes to clean the room will notice a thing has changed.</p><p>And neither will he. </p><p>She will be gone.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>She doesn’t scream, she doesn’t know how, but she grits her teeth and for the first time in her eternity tears start to fall.<p>It hurts, so much, but there have been so many worse things than this.</p><p>She leaves his knife on the bedside table and takes only the things that belong to her and her alone. The second backpack and a camera. A wallet with currency from different countries.</p><p>A jacket faintly stained with the bloody scars forming on her back that no one else will see. </p><p>And then.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>She spends almost a century running away.<p>There is no destination in mind, just far away from him. If she stays too long in a single place, Adam may find her. Her past and her guilt might come along with him.</p><p>She has learned, over the decades, the experience of fear. It is the strongest sensation since losing her wings. It clings to her like silken spiderwebs, catching at her back. Impossible to shake off.</p><p>But she concentrates on usefulness.</p><p>She takes a job as a seamstress, working her fingers raw. She takes a job in sanitation. She takes a job on the night shift at a grocery store.</p><p>She takes a job in a factory, along an assembly line. </p><p>She is good at following instructions and she never feels exhaustion. She advances quickly, trusted by the coworkers who turn to her with questions. She starts to worry what they may see, how long they’ll look.</p><p>She leaves work the long way instead of risking a ride on the train home with anyone she recognizes. </p><p>She walks through darkly lit streets and crosses long shadows broken up by awning lights. She stops in front of the glow of a small building huddled between two much larger structures.</p><p>The name on the door says <i>Rusty CrowBar</i>, with the image of a shadowy bird perched upon a red crowbar (of course), angled as though the bird is about to take flight. </p><p>She could almost smile at the familiar sight of black wings. </p><p>It pulls at some old forgotten ache, like the way human skin scars and puckers at the edge of a wound, a constant reminder.</p><p>Without thinking, wanting nothing else but an escape, she steps inside.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>And then.<div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>This girl is like the sun, the way she remembers it being in the very beginning.<p>She is bright and blinding, burning with warmth and possibility. </p><p>“What can I get you?” she asks, and her smile is a fire inside the heart, twisting, curling, warming.</p><p>She is a heat that Blake was never meant to feel.</p><p>She hadn’t been certain, until precisely now, that her heart could feel things other than pain and constant yearning.</p><p>Though there is some yearning too. </p><p>“What’s on tap?” </p><p>This is not what a bar is for. It’s for the darkness, the escape. Watching humanity up close, seeing the ways they twist and bump against one another, but never making her own impact. Never leaving a trace behind for him to find. The point was the anonymity and a vague sense of possibility.</p><p>But not possibility for her. She is not meant for knowing what could be.</p><p>She was not made for hope.</p><p>She never stays long at a bar, but now she’s seated on a stool, watching the woman’s back as she works. The muscles there flex and it reminds her of ancient athletes, the way they would glisten in the sunlight. The woman turns back around and their eyes catch.</p><p>She notices the staring, but she only smiles in return. </p><p>“I’ll take whatever,” she says, avoiding looking up again until the feeling burns itself through her. She folds the money in her palm, feels the creases, and remembers centuries of want compressed into moments. Heartbeats. Lives and bodies broken along distant shores. She thinks of empty night skies at the dawn of time. When she looks up again, her expression is empty, just as all of her should be. “Thank you.” She slides the money across the bar and waits.</p><p>When the woman turns away again, Blake keeps her gaze carefully neutral. She considers the shape and curve of her spine and how the hair gathered in a loose ponytail dangles lightly against her shoulders as she turns to another girl — smaller, louder — who joins her at the bar. </p><p>They both laugh at something, some joke that passes quickly between them.</p><p>Blake realizes that she hasn’t been listening. All this humanity at its most naked and unobscured, the very thing she yearns to see, and here she is stupidly staring, taking nothing in completely, as though it’s the very first time she saw the sun rise. </p><p>She remembers that too. </p><p>It comes to her again now. The dawn of humanity and how it had felt, endless and aching. Everything in its own place, her especially. A time when she still had purpose.</p><p>She takes a sip and hardly tastes the beer against her lips. </p><p>The sensation that slides down her throat is something else. She does not allow herself to think the word want; it cannot enter her brain. </p><p>But it is there all the same, just there on her tongue, so close to slipping out. </p><p>Instead, she says, “What’s your name?”</p><p>“Yang,” the woman answers, as though she didn’t expect the words to come out. She lingers, looking unsure. Her palms flex against the bar top. “And yours?”</p><p>When she was formed, she did not have a name. </p><p>She was given purpose and position, with no authority or control. She was given only what she was meant to carry, nothing more. A name was never necessary. </p><p>When they left she created one, along with some small identity. </p><p>It’s there for just this purpose, to be handed out when she takes a job or answers casual questions. Humans have names, they have lives and goals and ambitions. They have wants and desires.</p><p>They have choice. </p><p>If she is to live among them, she must have all these things too, or some kind of approximation. </p><p>She should have the answer, a ready lie to give. </p><p>Instead, she asks, “Have you worked here long?”</p><p>The girl (Yang) seems surprised, and perhaps disappointed too, although she quickly hides it. “Practically since it opened.” She slaps a towel down on the bar and begins to wipe it down. Her forearm flexes. Is that deliberate? “My uncle owns the place.”</p><p>“Oh, how nice.” </p><p>It is. </p><p>This is so nice.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>She doesn’t know how the time passes so fast. She blinks and it is almost autumn.<p>The people at work have started to ask more of her. They’ve started to ask, so many questions. Not all of them are about her or where she came from, but she’s always afraid of the possibility of <i>more</i> at the periphery. What if it’s the next thing that they want.</p><p>There are so many things she cannot begin to say.</p><p>“We’re looking to start a union,” one woman says. She works with finer glass work, carving it while sparks fly. Injuries happen, and the pay isn’t enough. Their health care is limited and pulled away too easily.</p><p>She knows it, but avoids the woman’s eyes when she says, “I’m not interested.”</p><p>She is, in fact. She’s interested. She wants to know how humans do these things, what it means, how they gather and fight for change. But it’s the kind of thing that comes with responsibilities and roll call. The trail you leave or the people you disappoint the next time you turn to run.</p><p>She can’t put down her name or roots. Not just because of him, but something else inside of her.</p><p>She was not made to feel or care, to be permanent or whole. She can pretend for a little while that she is someone or something else, but the reality always takes hold. It is better, safer, to be nothing to them now.</p><p>The woman’s disappointment shows on her face and she lingers a moment as if to say more. </p><p>Instead, she only nods.</p><p>She turns to go.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>That night at the bar, Yang can tell somehow that she’s upset. She asks questions.<p>She walks her to the train. </p><p>They walk together, side-by-side, and all those worries almost melt away, warming as she always does under Yang’s careful consideration. Blake is so close to saying something else, something more, but she lets Yang do all the talking instead. She lets Yang reach out, take her by the wrist, and lead her somewhere else.</p><p>She has let herself be led so many places before, down so many winding streets, yet this feels different. </p><p>She does not feel the cold under Yang’s touch.</p><p>They were not meant to feel, nothing at all. Not the weather or cold or anything inside their ancient hearts. </p><p>She is so many things she was never meant to be.</p><p>Her sense of touch has changed with time, and so have the other senses. Her eyes have grown unaccustomed to seeing anything more than this plane of existence, the solid and material. </p><p>Yet now she sees the outline of Yang like a bright fire, burning so strong that she nearly leaves trails of flame in her wake. She smiles in a way that lights up the whole dark street ahead of them.</p><p>Or it could be that the sun is close to rising. “Don’t you ever get tired?”</p><p>It’s the sort of question that she would never normally ask, because it invites the same query in response. It invites careful attention to the fact that she never yawns, never grows tired, never really needs to sleep. She only wants it, the way she wants food, the way she wishes she knew real hunger. The way she imitates human life in order to survive and fill her days.</p><p>She shouldn’t draw any more attention to the ways in which she doesn’t align or fit into place, but she can’t resist it when she so desperately wants more.</p><p>Anything that Yang will give, she’ll gladly take. </p><p>“Ruby says I don’t,” Yang admits, her cheeks flushed in the cold.</p><p>She wants to reach out, to touch her. To feel that heat. </p><p>Instead she focuses on the cold, the chill of the wind that she can’t even fully feel. “Do you feel like it?”</p><p>“Mm, some days.” Yang laughs and shrugs her shoulders. “Mostly Fridays and Saturday.”</p><p>“That much worse?”</p><p>She turns and Yang is smiling at her, watching so steady that it feels dangerous. It is dangerous, but she does not run. “Some things make it better.”</p><p>“I’m not sure what you mean…”</p><p>“You are.”</p><p>They’ve arrived at the train and she hurries through the rattling door — feels the weight brace against her shoulder, focuses on the sensation of it, the cold of something so distant from Yang — and she does not look back.</p><p>But still she imagines she can see the way Yang must stare after her. </p><p>She can picture the tilt of her smile, the curl of her mouth.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>She wants to see more.<p>She wants.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>“Blake,” she says, and pretends not to savor the way it spreads across Yang’s face. She thinks of warriors lost in the desert, clasping their hands around trickles of water, the sweet satisfaction that spread across their lips.<p>She thinks about the way she watched them slowly die over the next several days.</p><p>But Yang laughs, and her mind is back to now. </p><p>“You just never asked,” she lies.</p><p>She’s not sure if Yang believes her, but she doesn’t look ready to argue it. Maybe that’s for the best. </p><p>“Sure,” she’s saying, leaning in closer. “So tell me something else.”</p><p>There are things she wants to say. Lifetimes spent at the edge of battlefields, eternities of dark skies lit up with smoke and screams. </p><p>Yes, all that.</p><p>But the sweet things too. She wants to tell her about fruits that don’t exist anymore, the sound of bird call in a forest no man has ever stepped foot in. Watching rivers carve a course across a mountainside. To sit and watch the decades pass with your fingers trailing through the grass and have it feel like a single afternoon. The way the world can shift under your gaze and how beautiful it can be. </p><p>How beautiful she had forgotten it could be. </p><p>How beautiful this woman is in front of her and how the light catches in her eyes.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Perhaps it is all of these things.<p>Perhaps it is the words caught just beneath her tongue that cause her to press her mouth against Yang’s, to let her in. She falls back against the sheets and drags the heat of the sun on top of her. </p><p>If she burns, so be it. </p><p>It has never felt like this before. </p><p>Yang holds her. Not down, but up. She lifts her with slow and steady pushes, raising her slowly over the crest of a feeling Blake has never known. Fingers inside her, mouth on her throat, Yang lifts her up, higher and higher, and she thinks of the way it used to feel to live life in the clouds. She thinks of eternity, waiting for this. Wanting this, this thing she never had words for.</p><p>Her fingers pull at the sheets, her heels dig into the small of Yang’s back. One knee nearly collides with her jaw and they both laugh, real and raw, a little breathless and unsure. Even Blake, even she feels a loss of breath.</p><p>She is not someone who should have to breathe, even now, even like this. </p><p>Unless she is being made mortal, here and now. </p><p>Is this what it takes to die? Is this pleasure why mortal lives are so brief? It’s too much, a heart could explode from a lifetime of such living.</p><p>And still, she wants more.</p><p>She takes Yang by the jaw, pulls her mouth close, demands lips on her breast, her jaw, her mouth. She pushes and takes her place on top and for the very first time, she seeks out the heat at the center of this sunlight girl. She takes her, she tastes her. She wraps Yang around her fingers and pulls her and pulls, and still.</p><p>She wants more.</p><p>For the first time in an eternity, across the span of several lifetimes, Blake wants. </p><p>She wants Yang.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>She wakes to morning. Sunlight streams in through the window and Yang is still on the other side of the mattress. Blake can sense the danger before she sees it. The way the bed springs creak makes her think of how it had sounded just before she pulled the blade, before she cut her past away, before the screaming and the blood.<p>“Blake,” Yang’s voice says, and it sounds so far away. </p><p>It sounds like another lifetime.</p><p>It sounds like prayer, like fear. The way the shepherds must have sounded seeing the face of angels. Fear of eternity and their own mortality.</p><p>Blake isn’t sure why she’s thinking that way.</p><p>Until she raises her eyes and sees the way Yang is looking, looking past her. </p><p>Staring past her.</p><p>The way Yang’s eyes have lit on something else behind her, and suddenly she knows.</p><p>The weight. Even if she can’t feel them the way she used to, the weight has returned. The weight of an eternity, the weight of immorality, the weight of expectation and anguish. “Yang,” she tries and feels the way her voice cracks. “I can explain.”</p><p>From the terror in Yang’s eyes, she knows they must be larger, growing, stretching.</p><p>But she can’t feel it, not the way she used to. </p><p>“You really better start.”</p><p>It’s not a threat, not exactly, but it feels like something worse. It feels like betrayal. Blake stands quickly, and Yang moves just as fast. She pulls back, nearly tripping over her own feet in her hurry to get away. </p><p>It shouldn’t hurt. </p><p>Shouldn’t, but does. </p><p>“I won’t hurt you,” she says, hold her hands out and willing the wings she can’t see, can’t fully seem to control, to act in kind. To be as non-threatening as she wishes to seem. “I promise I won’t.”</p><p>“Kind of, um.” Yang swallows and crosses her arms. “Sorry, but it’s a little hard to believe anything you’re saying when you’re a—” She swallows, hard. “Blake?”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“… are you an angel?”</p><p>From the look on her face, Yang is hoping that Blake will laugh at this.</p><p>But of course, she doesn’t. </p><p>“Not anymore.” Her palms lower, slowly. Luckily, Yang doesn’t tense; no more than she is already, at least. “But you can see them, can’t you?”</p><p>“The giant fucking wings coming out of your back?” Yang scoffs, uncrosses her arms, then crosses them again. “I see them.”</p><p>Blake nods and allows herself a moment to focus. She considers what they used to feel like, how they would mirror every  movement and emotion, when she could still feel things freely.</p><p>Judging by Yang’s expression, they must move again, at least slightly.</p><p>But Blake still can’t feel it.</p><p>“I haven’t. Not for…” Her mind falters at the enormity of the time; she can’t imagine how Yang could even take it in. “Many years.”</p><p>Yang doesn’t look satisfied with the answer.</p><p>That might even be an understatement.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>She starts somewhere near the beginning, but only in brief. “I was one of the chosen, sent to guard humanity, but instead I had to watch the suffering and the death and I couldn’t watch anymore. So I left.” She can see from Yang’s face that she’s about to say something, and Blake fears that if she stops now she’ll lose all the courage to keep going, so she pushes on, cutting her off. Saying, “I cut my wings off myself. I still don’t feel them there, but I believe you can see them. I don’t know why. I thought it was behind me now.”<p>“That’s why you’re so weird about your…” Yang flounders, waving her hand around desperately. “Everything. You’re weird about everything.”</p><p>“I don’t have a normal past,” Blake admits. “And probably not a real future either.” It’s only now, very suddenly, that Blake realizes she’s shirtless and exposed. She begins rooting around in the sheets, in search of something to pull on, to make her escape. “I’m sorry that I did this to you. I thought…”</p><p>“… Blake.”</p><p>“—but it was selfish, after all.”</p><p>She finally finds her shirt but Yang is tugging it away just as she reaches out for it. “Blake,” she says again, holding out the shirt. It’s an offering more than a tease or temptation. “I’m not throwing you out. I kind of want to talk about this.”</p><p>Blake crosses her arms over her chest, suddenly shy and unsure. </p><p>Yang grins, lopsided and a little softer now. “I, um. I can’t see anything right now, if you were wondering. They’re… the wings are…” She gestures again. “Everything’s covered, but you can have your shirt if you want.”</p><p>“… oh.” Blake tries to picture it, the very human modesty she never had as an angel and how it has worked itself into her wings. A consideration for another time, perhaps. “Yes, please.”</p><p>She tries not to notice the way Yang stares as the fabric pulls over her head. She wonders how it appears to her, what the wings might be doing.</p><p>“How do you—”</p><p>“I’ve told you, I don’t know.”</p><p>Yang nods. “Right, sorry, it’s just—”</p><p>“—weird, I know.”</p><p>“Really fucking weird, yeah, that’s an understatement.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Blake says again, feeling more uncertain with every passing moment. Maybe she should have already started for the door. But her mouth is moving without her mind, instinct taking action. “What else do you want to know?”</p><p>Yang sits back on the edge of the bed. The box spring creaks, but it’s less ominous now.</p><p>It makes Blake think of the way it had sounded last night. The rhythm of the two of them falling into each other, apart, and back again. She doesn’t want that to be an anomaly, she realizes.</p><p>Even still, even now, she wants.</p><p>“Why me?” Yang asks, the line of her back stooped in gentle uncertainty. </p><p>Blake wants to take her fingertips and trace a slow path along her muscles, to feel the curves of her so carefully.</p><p>“Because I wanted you,” she says, and it’s the first time she’s ever admitted as much out loud, to anyone, about anything. </p><p>She wants. </p><p>Even now, even still, she wants.</p><p>It’s a selfish and human impulse that must sound so base and horrific just spoken aloud like that. But something in Yang’s face shows hesitation instead of revulsion. She smiles and lifts her gaze. “Oh, yeah?”</p><p>“Oh,” Blake sighs, and she can’t help but think of the way she used to sink into prayer, the one thing her mouth was intended for. “Yes, very much.”</p><p>Yang tilts her head, and her mouth turns. She looks ready to say something but only smiles.</p><p>So Blake is the one who must continue speaking instead. “Can I kiss you?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“… oh, I’m sorry.” She feels heat burn right through her. “I just—”</p><p>“Sure,” Yang cuts in quickly. “You can. You just—” She laughs and shrugs at precisely the same time. “It caught me off guard, I guess.”</p><p>Blake nods, but doesn’t make a move. She waits.</p><p>So does Yang. Until suddenly, she’s standing again. “Do you want me to—?” She doesn’t really wait for an answer, just long enough for Blake to nod, before she closes the space between them. </p><p>Even in the morning, under the clear reality of daylight, her kiss is unlike anything Blake has felt before these past few hours. And when Yang’s hand reaches back, through her hair, curling beyond her neck, reaching, she knows for the first time in years that her wings must really be there. Because she feels them now, in the other woman’s touch. </p><p>She feels fingertips plunging past her, through her, and settling somehow, somewhere, deep inside. She feels Yang threading herself into the very center of her, fingers curling, and she gasps against Yang’s mouth.</p><p>She gasps and then she groans.</p><p>Yang chuckles and bites her lip and pulls, pulls, pulls, until they’re both on the bed again. It shifts and springs beneath them, and the girl made of sunlight just laughs so loud and so warm. “Is this what you had in mind?”</p><p>“Sorry,” Blake purrs, half-dazed, still overwhelmed by new emotions and sensations. “I didn’t really intend for…”</p><p>“Didn’t you?” Yang asks with her fingers drifting through Blake’s hair and beyond, curling inside her, pulling her back and forth, side to side, and she sighs, she sighs.</p><p>“I thought you wanted…” Words feel so far away, drifting like the tips of her fingers tracing along Yang’s jaw, her mouth, over her brow and lips and—</p><p>And, “Later’s fine.”</p><p>Yang’s mouth shifts into a smile and she kisses Blake again. </p><p>The room shifts under the stretching shadows and rising sun but the two of them don’t notice anything but each other’s bodies for hours. Briefly, in between mouthfuls of Yang’s thighs and fingers twisting through her hair, Blake thinks she sees a exceptionally long shadow cast against the wall when she moves.</p><p>For a moment, she almost sees the shadow she carries behind herself, always.</p><p>But then Yang’s mouth is on her forehead, her temple, her jaw, her mouth, and she forgets everything that has ever come before this wanting, this needing, this now.</p><p>For the first time in all of eternity, she sees only now.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. unseasonably high temperatures and low humidity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>One of the areas that Ruby focuses on in her studies is making full use of resources, especially in unexpected places or ways. It’s not just about looking outside of the box, because you still have to keep some of your attention on boxes when you do that. You’re still thinking about a box, even if your goal is to avoid it. But what if you’ve been looking at it wrong the whole time? What if the box isn’t actually a box? It could be that you’re only using it that way because you couldn’t see anything else. Maybe the materials serve you better in some other way. Maybe it can all be repurposed and renewed.<p>The box only being a box is the problem. The solutions aren’t exactly infinite, but they’re a lot more vast than people allow themselves to consider. They’re too busy looking away from the actual objects or concepts in front of them, contemplating a million things that haven’t even happened, instead of working on the things we already know and need. People are too focused on using the box the way they want for now, bending all the sides until they almost cave in, leaving the corners folded wrong, and then running tape over the edges to fix it just for now.</p>
<p>The box, in this case, is her sister Yang.</p>
<p>Not that she’s bruised and water-stained or anything else so dramatic, especially not from the outside looking in. To the average person, she probably seems really happy, but Ruby remembers how things used to be.</p>
<p>She’s not even sure that Dad notices, how Yang smiles less of her real smile instead of the one she uses behind the bar to get tips. It’s not like it’s his fault, he’s just as busy with work as she is, and if anyone’s to blame it’s probably Ruby. They’re both so focused on her future — putting her through school early so she can head out and change the world — that they don’t realize the parts of their own reality that have started to get stuck.</p>
<p>But Ruby’s learned to look out for all those boxes inside her sister that she keeps her feelings locked away in.</p>
<p>That’s why she notices it right away.</p>
<p>People think Ruby doesn’t notice what’s going on in the bar. Maybe they think that she’s distracted, because she’s usually the one taking care of the lights starting to go out near the stage or cleaning up messes from the floor, but she sees a lot. Maybe it’s even more accurate to say that she sees too much, which is why it’s not always worth noting all of it aloud. </p>
<p>Ruby stores it all away for later, unlike Weiss who has to tell you the moment that she’s noticed you doing anything out of the ordinary. It’s like it energizes her, using gentle gossip to make her relationships feel closer and more intimate. That’s why Weiss says everything she’s thinking, but in a flat and neutral way so she can pretend that it’s not grounded in deep feelings for her friends and wanting to be close to them.</p>
<p>This projection of Weiss as calm and detached probably doesn’t even fool Yang, who has more distractions than the rest of them, but everybody humors Weiss anyway, especially Pyrrha.</p>
<p>You could probably call what Pyrrha does with Weiss more than humoring, actually, but the point is that Ruby definitely noticed the girl even before Weiss did. She knows that with absolute certainty because it took a few visits before Weiss bothered to ask, “Who’s the goth girl your sister’s fawning over?”</p>
<p>Ruby, on the other hand, saw her that very first night.</p>
<p>It was something about her whole vibe. She looked perfectly straight — but not straight like that, hopefully, for Yang’s sake — with her shoulders back and perfect posture, but she still seemed hunched in, almost in hiding. It’s the kind of thing that probably makes a lot of other people look away, around the box, but Ruby took a second look.</p>
<p>That’s when she saw the way that Yang was looking too.</p>
<p>Like she was <i>really</i> looking, really seeing, really smiling for the first time at work since Ruby can remember. Like maybe it’s never happened before in this building, except after hours talking with Weiss. Then she was gone, and a lot of the smile along with it. </p>
<p>But now Ruby has something new to watch out for.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>It’s important to realize that a woman isn’t enough for anyone. Not a woman or a man or any single relationship. A resource has to be renewable, and a person can’t be consumed in that way. You can’t expect them to invest all of themselves in you. It’s not enough.<p>Just look at the way Weiss acts on days when Pyrrha can’t be there. She gets angry easily, all those emotions she bottles up normally bursting out at whoever’s dumb enough to get close. It’s definitely not healthy, but expressing her emotions productively is something she’s still working on, hopefully (eventually) for reasons beyond just learning how to flirt well.</p>
<p>The point is that self-improvement has to extend past another person. It has to actually consider the self.</p>
<p>But it’s not like a little flirting is a problem.</p>
<p>Ruby doesn’t mind seeing it from the outside. She just wishes the sort of anxious flaky girl who never uses a credit card or smart phone to pay and kind of seems like she doesn’t even have a name is going to provide more than she takes when it’s all weighed out at the end. It’s the least that Yang deserves. The very, very least.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>“Do you think Pyrrha would go to dinner with me if I handle all the plans and I pay too?”<p>She and Juane are the only two out on the floor prepping for open while Yang goes over last night’s accounting in the back, and this isn’t the first time he’s asked this question. </p>
<p>Which is why it’s also not the first time that Ruby answers so directly, honestly, saying, “I think she might go, but she’s not going to be interested in the way you are.”</p>
<p>Jaune huffs and stops midway through checking the batteries in one of the less consistent fake candles. Ruby recognizes the click-click-click of him flicking it on and off. “How do you know what way I’m interested?”</p>
<p>“Because you stare at her a lot. It’s not that dark in here, and the only person who probably hasn’t noticed is Pyrrha and that’s because she’s focused on her music and not on you. Because she’s not interested in you, not in the way that you want.” She looks over at him and frowns. He’s actually hurt, even though she’s pretty sure she said this exact same thing last time, or nearly. Maybe she said it softer and nicer? “There are rechargeable batteries in the back.”</p>
<p>“How do you know how much she’s interested?”</p>
<p>Ruby sighs and swaps the dead candle in his hand with a fully functioning one. She sets the dud off to the side for later before returning her focus back to Jaune and the sad look on his face, half-obscured by the way he lets his hair droop across his eyes. Softer probably is the way to go here, and it’s not like it’s a lie anyway. “Because you’re a great guy and if you were a match the way you want to be, you would have already met outside of here at least once after working in the same place several nights a week for years.”</p>
<p>The flattery works. He looks bashful, sure, but he believes it too.</p>
<p>One of the easy things about being Ruby is her direct and earnest approach to most conversations makes it easy to convince people when she’s telling the truth — which is almost always — and even easier when she’s telling a lie. But only for morally justified reasons, like not telling Jaune that the reason she’s pretty sure Pyrrha isn’t interested in him is she’s already got her eyes on someone else.</p>
<p>No need to marinade the wound in salt, no matter how tasty that sounds now that she thinks of it, and really come to think of it—</p>
<p>She hasn’t had dinner yet.</p>
<p>Focus, Ruby. </p>
<p>She needs to regain (some of) her composure, because Jaune’s definitely talking to her again, and she missed almost everything except for, “that girl,” followed by a very expectant look on his face. </p>
<p>At least he’s mostly done moping, so probably the girl in question wasn’t Pyrrha.</p>
<p>Unless it’s Weiss?</p>
<p>Best just to be direct. “What girl?”</p>
<p>“Oh, come on! You know who I mean, she’s always here.” </p>
<p>“No, I mean I really wasn’t listening.” Which reminds Ruby, she hasn’t been working for at least a few minutes now. She starts putting more candles down on tables, only sparing Jaune the occasional glance, adding, “What was the rest of it about the girl?”</p>
<p>Jaune sighs and out of the corner of her eye she sees him starting to move through the tables too, distributing the rest of his candles. “I said what’s the deal with Yang and that girl.”</p>
<p>“… oh, her.” </p>
<p>“So you do know who I mean.”</p>
<p>The latest candle Ruby just put down has an erratically flickering flame too. Has it been too long for the batteries in most of these? Maybe later this week they should do a full evaluation. She hates to waste energy in charging batteries when they’re not needed, but nothing drives a consistent drinker off faster than leaving them alone in the dark with their own thoughts and feelings; those candle lights are a necessity.</p>
<p>“<i>Ruby</i>.”</p>
<p>Wow, she really needs to eat something. It helps with the focus. “I know, but I don’t know, you know?” She flicks the inconsistent candle’s switch a few times, click-click-click, and then pockets it alongside the other busted up one. Something to deal with later. “I know who you mean, but I don’t know what the deal is except that she makes my sister happy and I think this time they both like each other.”</p>
<p>“She’s got a funny way of showing it.”</p>
<p>Ruby circles back to that table and puts down a new candle. “Yang’s just like that sometimes. You know that.”</p>
<p>“I wasn’t talking about her.” When she looks up and catches his eye, Jaune scoffs. “Come on, haven’t you listened in on some of their conversations?”</p>
<p>“What? No, that’s—” Ruby frowns. “That’s really creepy. Do you <i>do</i> that?”</p>
<p>“… if I say no is it too late to convince you I’m not creepy?” Ruby’s frown deepens, and he raises his hands defensively. One of the candles drops and bounces off the wooden floor, but he doesn’t even glance. “Not like all the time, alright, just when I’m up there at the bar filling out an order. They talk basically the whole night, it’s kind of hard not to pick up on some of it.”</p>
<p>It’s not a great excuse, but it’s one that Ruby believes. She meant it before; Jaune’s not bad. He’s just awkward and a little oblivious sometimes, but he definitely wouldn’t want to spy on a friend without their knowledge. Not deliberately, at least. Even if he could spy on Pyrrha, he probably wouldn’t. </p>
<p>Probably. She’s definitely going to go with a very firm <i>probably</i>.</p>
<p>Which is also (probably) how he’s the only person in the entire bar who hasn’t even noticed what’s going on there with Weiss.</p>
<p>But the point is that this is illicit material immorally gained and Ruby should not ask for anything else. She should insist, firmly, that he’s in the wrong here and there’s no need to know what personal private stuff her sister is talking about in a public space at her place of employment with lots of other people around. </p>
<p>Except when you think about it that way, actually, it’s almost some kind of injustice not to follow up.</p>
<p>Is Yang crying out for help? Who knows!</p>
<p>Certainly not Ruby, unless she asks. “So what’s funny?”</p>
<p>Jaune gives her a confused look that Ruby is pretty familiar with by now. “What’s—”</p>
<p>She realizes that people can’t always track her thoughts, especially when they circle back around to something that came before, so she cuts in with clarification. “You said the way she shows that she likes Yang is funny.” </p>
<p>Ruby doesn’t think of herself as protective necessarily. That’s usually the kind of overreaction that comes from anxiety, and it’s especially unnecessary with someone like Yang, who could probably bend steel with a few well placed punches. And if Ruby crosses her arms — after setting the box of fake candles aside — that’s not for emphasis or to look tough. She just wants to do it, for no reason at all, and if Jaune’s smirking a little in return, he definitely doesn’t have anything to laugh about. </p>
<p>“Well, it’s just Yang tells her a lot. Personal stuff, about you and your dad.” Ruby feels herself tense, only a little, but it must be visible too, because Jaune hesitates. He waits, but so does she; he’s the one with the information, after all, and there’s no point in interrupting. “… nothing too personal, I guess, but just family things. Things you might talk to a date about, right, but whenever Yang asks about her, she just heads for the door.”</p>
<p>Ruby’s never been standing close to mystery girl when she leaves, but she’s noticed how abruptly it can happen. “She does leave pretty fast.”</p>
<p>“But it always seems to happen when Yang asks something about her life.” He takes a step closer and lowers his voice, which is completely unnecessary in the otherwise empty front of house. “Ruby, what if she’s got something to hide?”</p>
<p>Of course Yang chooses exactly this moment to come out from the back, cash register in hand. She stops mid-stride, watching them. “Done with prep already, or is Jaune getting ready to ask Pyrrha out again?”</p>
<p>The blush and flustered expression that overtakes Jaune is enough to end this weird mutual wavelength they were slipping into where Ruby is pretty sure she might have started to do dramatic and unnecessary whispering herself — it was just the kind of vibe going on — but now she takes a full step back and picks up her box again. “Only the second one.”</p>
<p>“You didn’t have to tell her!”</p>
<p>From behind the bar, Yang laughs. “She’s just confirming the things I already know, big boy.”</p>
<p>That’s probably true of this worry too. It’s almost amazing and poetic how Yang says something that reflects so directly on exactly the thing Ruby’s already thinking about. It’s the kind of thing that could make you reconsider the universe and your place in it, how everything converges. Or maybe her sister just knows her so well, knows her exact worries even when they aren’t articulated fully by either of them.</p>
<p>Because she’s observant. That’s the point. </p>
<p>Yang notices things, she sees them with clarity, and if mystery girl is bad news then she’s probably picked up on that much faster than Jaune, even if his creeping is effective.</p>
<p>If the girl is a problem, if she tries to leave a mess, that’s probably no surprise to Yang, who doesn’t need her sister’s protection. Really it’d just be confirmation of things she already knows.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Upon further reflection approximately three hours later, Ruby realizes that’s actually a really terrible thing.<p>If the mystery girl turns out to be more mystery than substance, if she turns into a very real and serious problem, then doesn’t that mean she’s only going to confirm the cynical way Yang’s already viewing the world? Will it be enough for her to give up on love, on ambition, on things outside of the bar and Ruby who is taking up way too much of her time and attention?</p>
<p>Because Ruby fully understands and accepts her place in all this. It’s tempting to want to look at life in a linear sense, just a sequence of events all laid out, cause and effect. It almost makes our choices look inevitable, but the reality is that people exist in an almost quantum state. We can be two things at the same time.</p>
<p>Yang can be happy and sad. Ruby can be a source of joy for her sister and the essential core of her problems too, even if nobody wants to verbalize this simple truth that they all already know. Yang has been giving up on herself, in a way that Ruby never asked for, so there’s no easy way to just hand it all back.</p>
<p>But if she’s central to the problem, she can be fundamental to the solution.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>As established, Ruby doesn’t exactly excel at linear thinking. In some parts of her life — like school and her eventual intended career path — this is an asset. In other parts, like socially, it can be a slight obstacle, especially when her focus drifts and people think she doesn’t care just because her brain’s calculating way too many things at once. It’s not from a lack of caring, but an excessive amount of it.<p>One thing she’s gotten good at, almost as a means of coping, is organized planning in advance. The human mind can be really brilliant like that. Find a flaw within yourself, something standing in your own way, and with enough focus you can start to overcome it, as long as the baseline problem isn’t biological or chemical.</p>
<p>If the obstacle is brain chemistry or unbalanced serotonin, that’s another thing entirely, but Ruby’s pretty sure her problem is too many thoughts at once. Having a pre-planned sequence or approach helps focus her path, narrow down to the most important thing moment-to-moment. Just about anything is manageable when you break it down into its individual, actionable pieces.</p>
<p>That’s how Operation Protect Yang’s Heart began to develop. </p>
<p>First step: don’t tell Yang anything about it. She’s too proud to even accept the idea that she’d need anyone looking out for her, as if that’s not the whole point of family. Ruby’s learned over the years to be subtle when she’s trying to do anything for Yang, at least if it’s more than a Christmas gift and even those can be hit and miss. Yang is very good at going out and picking up a new winter coat on December 20th, almost a month after Ruby ordered the perfect size and color for her in the mail.</p>
<p>It’s like she has a sixth sense for dodging assistance, which is why the next part is so important.</p>
<p>Second step: do not give Weiss any of the finer details, but enlist her anyway. She’s well meaning and kind, but sometimes clumsy when it comes to dealing with Yang. Not always! Most of the time, they get along swell, it’s just that Weiss can say too much. It’s that desperation to be closer that makes necessary deception something she struggles with. </p>
<p>But that also means Weiss doesn’t have that lifetime of baggage hanging around her. She can be direct and Yang doesn’t second guess it; that’s just the way Weiss is.</p>
<p>So when Ruby brings Weiss a glass of water during a break in her set one Saturday night, she knows what’s going to happen after she leans in close and says, “So what do you think of Yang’s mystery girl?”</p>
<p>She knows that look Weiss gives her before it’s even fully locked in place. It’s suspicion overwhelmed by curiosity. “Why?”</p>
<p>“Just curious if she’d said anything to you.” </p>
<p>“She doesn’t talk to anyone but your sister. You know that.”  Her nails clink against the side of her glass, a miniature piano scale down its side. “Well, Ren says they’ve talked sometimes, but I don’t know what about.” She sips the glass and the ice clinks. “Do two people who never talk to anyone else just have a long conversation about how much they appreciate the occasional silence? The scintillating accompaniment of the wind in the trees.” She waves her hand vaguely. “But if you’re curious, you should go ask—”</p>
<p>Ruby hadn’t considered enlisting anyone else, least of all Ren. Which means that Yang won’t suspect anything either!</p>
<p>“You’re brilliant, Weiss!” She kisses her cheek, gives her shoulders a squeeze, and bounces on the balls of her feet, all in quick succession.</p>
<p>Weiss sputters, which is the expected response. “No, I—”</p>
<p>She starts gesturing back toward the bar, but Ruby doesn’t stick around to see what the no refers to. She knows the schedules pretty well — the ins and their out times — for everyone that works at <i>Rusty CrowBar</i>, and Ren should be clocking out in the next half hour. Which means there’s no better time to corner him for a talk than when he’s forced to remain in exactly one spot while Yang’s pretty obligated to be in a different one, at precisely the same time.</p>
<p>She couldn’t have planned it better.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>“She doesn’t talk a lot about herself really,” Ren says in his usual measured pace. Ruby could almost grunt in frustration, but she’s genuinely concerned that the slightest noise could startle him back into silence. Clearly Weiss was wrong, though! This is basically pointless. “Come to think of it, I don’t even know her name.”<p>“How does nobody know her name!” </p>
<p>Ruby’s arms fly up in the air, and yes alright she does get louder than intended. Ren cuts himself off with an awkward cough, just as she had anticipated. A miscalculation, obviously, except the frown on Ren’s face suggests that his mind is actually focused enough on something bothering him that he’s going to resume talking. Or at least that he might be goaded into it with some very careful, subtle persuasion. </p>
<p>Like if she were to lean in close, try to nudge him but miss as he takes a quick step back, and then wiggle her eyebrows anyway, completely undeterred. “So what kind of stuff did you talk about?”</p>
<p>His frown gets deeper. “She asked a lot of questions.”</p>
<p>Almost everybody communicates with Ren mostly through questions, because it’s the only way to really trigger a reaction from him. The fact that mystery girl picked up on that so fast is noteworthy, but otherwise it’s pretty routine. </p>
<p>But of course Ruby doesn’t say that to him. Instead, she asks a question, “What about?”</p>
<p>“… she asked a lot about Nora.”</p>
<p>Ruby’s eyes narrow. “Another woman,” she murmurs, not exactly under her breath.</p>
<p>“Well. Not exactly.”</p>
<p>“Oh, sorry, no, not another woman for you. Obviously she is your one woman, although not in a weird and possessive way. Just the one woman you are with, but in Yang’s case she is another woman. Than Yang.”</p>
<p>“… I’m afraid that I don’t follow.”</p>
<p>“Well, you see—”</p>
<p>“And I don’t think I want to.”</p>
<p>This time it’s Ruby cutting herself off with an awkward cough. “Okay, well. If you happen to see her again sometime soon, let me know if she gives anything up. I’m sort of curious.”</p>
<p>“You mean sometime other than tonight?”</p>
<p>The question is so specific — so unlike Ren at all — that it takes Ruby’s brain a second to realize what he just asked. “I mean, sure, if she shows up tonight, feel free to talk to her.”</p>
<p>“No, I mean, she’s here.”</p>
<p>Ruby sputters and coughs again. “She’s—”</p>
<p>“She went in just a few minutes before you came out. I thought that must have been what made you come out here asking questions.” </p>
<p>They might have even passed on the staircase, Ruby realizes.</p>
<p>And then her next thought, even louder: she just left Yang alone with her.</p>
<p>“Thanks, Ren!” she shouts loud enough that he winces.</p>
<p>Another miscalculation, but she can make it up to him some other time when her sister’s not being seduced by this mystery girl who breaks hearts and steals secrets from even the tightest of lips.</p>
<p>What else does she take from lips!</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Ruby nearly barrels right into Katt on her way back inside, taking the steps on the stairs two then three at a time, moving dangerously fast in her clunky winter boots that Ruby likes so much that she started wearing them the second the weather turned to fall.<p>They don’t really have the traction needed for this kind of deft maneuvering, but luckily her fellow serving staff member is there to grab her by the shoulders before she face plants into the railing. “Woah there, kitten!”</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Ruby sputters, waving her hands around to push the help away. “I appreciate you, but I’ve got to—”</p>
<p>You don’t have to shake your hands at Katt twice. Just one swat that gets even a little bit close to her hair and she practically drops Ruby on her ass. Fortunately, she is no longer on uneven terrain and the boots don’t give her further disadvantage, at least not enough to overcome her natural agility and grace. Most people don’t anticipate coordination from Ruby given all the other things about her — like her rambling, her general clumsiness, her appetite for food and also destruction — but she is really good at recoveries which, while not exactly graceful, at least manage to be timely.</p>
<p>Which is what this amazing entrance to distract and rescue Yang from certain destructive heartbreak is going to be, so she just needs to keep dodging, weaving, and waving off everyone who tries to come over to talk to her. She loves and appreciates you all and will gladly apologize to everyone more thoroughly at a later date.</p>
<p>But first she has to <i>prevent</i> a disastrous date from occurring. With several long strides, she heads straight for the bar, Yang and mystery girl’s usual spot, and finds the stool … completely empty.</p>
<p>“There you are, short stack. Jaune’s taking all the best tables; you better go kick his ass.”</p>
<p>Ruby blinks. “Sure, okay, I’ll do that.” </p>
<p>The answer is really just automatic; she’s not really listening. </p>
<p>Because there’s Yang, clearly, smiling bright and winking, doing her whole bartender business. She’s there, but the stool is empty. No mystery girl in black with her really sweet leather jacket and equally cool chunky boots. Ruby’s been kind of curious about what brand they are.</p>
<p>Wait, no — focus!</p>
<p>“Ruby, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Yang’s entire expression shifts several shades paler. “Did somebody puke on the hallway carpet again?”</p>
<p>“What? No, I just—”</p>
<p>And then an unfamiliar sound for a Saturday night cuts through the noise in the crowd. It’s Weiss. And she’s laughing. Ruby’s head turns on a pivot, snapping sharply, and somehow it’s just inevitable isn’t it, it should be totally unsurprising to see her there. </p>
<p>Mystery girl, talking to someone else.</p>
<p>“<i>Another</i> woman,” Ruby mumbles to herself. “Unbelievable.”</p>
<p>She marches off in their direction. She can hear Yang calling something behind her, probably wondering why Ruby’s entire expression has turned a little bit manic, but that’s only because Yang isn’t inside her head right now. If she was in here, it would make perfect sense. It’s reasonable, really, to be both startled and completely unsurprised that the woman you have been investigating, partially from the suggestion of a friend, is now sitting down chatting casually with that very same friend. Run around all night looking for her, and she’s right back where Ruby started! </p>
<p>Assuming that by “all night” you mean roughly thirty-six minutes, but it still took some effort and she nearly cracked her head open, so in terms of emotional anguish, it definitely counts.</p>
<p>“And this is Yang’s sister, who I’m sure you know,” Weiss’s voice cuts in, loud over the rest of the crowd.</p>
<p>The woman turns to look at her, and Ruby realizes it’s the first time they’ve actually made such direct eye contact. Sure, she’s noticed her plenty of times, but it’s always felt weird to stare too long at the girl her sister obviously has a thing for. Weird for both the girl, and her sister, but that was before the girl herself started acting super weird and these investigative impulses felt more like a courtesy for Yang’s sake.</p>
<p>But this being the first time, Ruby isn’t ready for the way it feels.</p>
<p>Her whole face lights up when she looks at Ruby and smiles, and some weird warmth inside of Ruby’s chest lights up too. All that stress and anxiety building up inside herself all evening like a knotted ball of yarn just has one loose strand tugged and then it all falls away, knot undone.</p>
<p>This must be how she does it, whatever it is.</p>
<p>Ruby’s thinking maybe some kind of pheromone perfume or maybe some kind of reflective material applied in her makeup?</p>
<p>Wait, but she’s not wearing any makeup. Or is she? </p>
<p>Hard to tell in the low lighting if that’s eyeliner or just some kind of strangely moody disposition, except the anxiety and tension that usually hangs around her isn’t here tonight. She’s smiling and relaxed, leaning forward in her chair to offer up her hand. “It’s nice to actually meet you. Yang talks about you all the time.”</p>
<p>Before she even thinks about it, Ruby’s shaking her hand, saying, “She doesn’t talk about you, because nobody knows your name.”</p>
<p>“Weiss was just talking to me about the piano. She says she’s played it since she was three years old!” The handshake is still going, somehow, and her hand is so warm even though her palms are coarse. “It’s very impressive.”</p>
<p>Ruby is the first to pull her hand back, a little self-conscious. “Well, Weiss is an impressive woman.”</p>
<p>She almost forgets that she even asked the woman her name until they’ve already moved beyond the topic.</p>
<p>“If you want to talk about impressive, Pyrrha’s been studying much less than I have, and she’s already surpassed me.” Weiss taps her ring against the side of her glass. “It’s incredible, all she’s accomplished in her time.”</p>
<p>“So you were saying,” the woman says, and the conversation continues as if Ruby never arrived.</p>
<p>A few moments later, she’s seated beside them.</p>
<p>Or is it longer than that? </p>
<p>The conversation was so easy with this total stranger that Ruby’s completely lost track of the time sitting here listening to Weiss open up to someone in ways she almost never does. </p>
<p>But a lot of time must have passed, even if it doesn’t feel that way, because suddenly Jaune is coming around with their checks. She never kicked his ass, and it doesn’t seem like she’ll be able to because Yang’s shouting, “Last call,” from behind the bar.</p>
<p>Jaune brings her coat from the back room and leans in close, whispering as he hands it off. “So what did you learn?”</p>
<p>“That I was right and you definitely shouldn’t ask Pyrrha to dinner.” </p>
<p>Ruby’s so focused on adjusting the ends of her sleeves and how they align with her jacket that she doesn’t notice Jaune looking past her at first. “Oh,” he says, his voice soft and a little bit sad. </p>
<p>She turns.</p>
<p>There’s Pyrrha slipping into the seat that mystery girl was just in. She’s gone, but Weiss doesn’t seem to notice. </p>
<p>She only has eyes on Pyrrha.</p>
<p>“God, I’m such an idiot,” Jaune mumbles and runs fingers through his hair, more to release anxious energy than out of any real need. His hair always looks floppy in exactly the same way, no matter how much he touches it. “You knew already, huh?”</p>
<p>Ruby feels shy for the first time all night. “I mean, sort of, but I didn’t want to hurt you.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, sure.” He breathes in and out, through pursed lips, and then turns away from their table. “Hey, if they’re both happy, right?”</p>
<p>“Just like that? You’re over it?”</p>
<p>He scoffs. “Hell, no. But I’m going to try.”</p>
<p>With that, he starts walking to the bar where Yang’s already started closing down the counter and putting everything away. There’s a smile on her face, a real one, and she keeps looking over to Weiss and Pyrrha with an expression almost like pride.</p>
<p>The girl she likes did that. If it’s just for one night or something that lasts, they all know that she did it.</p>
<p>Maybe Jaune’s not the only idiot in the picture here. </p>
<p>If they’re both happy, right?</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>The months change and so does the weather. Appropriate boot season fast approaches and Ruby’s snow stomping boots are almost anxious with anticipation. Well, not the boots themselves, but the way her toes wriggle inside of them counts. She fidgets and stomps in preparation out on the sidewalk and she can almost picture the snowfall scattering under the might of her feet every time she lands. The rapid movement also helps her warm up even more than rubbing her palms together ever would.<p>But the weather isn’t the only thing that’s changing. </p>
<p>There’s a name now, to go with the increasingly familiar face. </p>
<p>Blake. </p>
<p>It’s pretty. She’s pretty. The way Blake and Yang smile when they’re together, that’s pretty too. </p>
<p>It’s all too easy and convenient, but Ruby’s not going to stand in the way of their happiness, as long as that’s what this continues to be. And the longer this goes on, the more it seems that way. Everything changes. That’s one of the basic facts of the world. Evolution or decay, or a whole spectrum of possibilities in between.</p>
<p>This change in Yang seems like it’s for the better.</p>
<p>Some nights they leave together, but from what Ruby can tell they never actually spend the night. </p>
<p>Until one night.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Ruby doesn’t know there’s anything special about that night until Yang calls her sometime the following afternoon. Then, she knows instantly that something’s off. Yang almost always texts if it’s about work. Calls are reserved only for family emergencies or, one time, a particularly nasty argument with Weiss.<p>There’s a split second where Ruby thinks it’s something to do with Uncle Qrow. It could be that he’s got himself arrested again, or even something worse. The last time was for vandalism when he threw a brick at someone’s windshield. </p>
<p>Admittedly, they were a huge jerk, but it’s still technically illegal. Ruby wouldn’t put him past it to try something like that again.</p>
<p>But Yang sounds freaked out, way more than she does when it’s just Uncle Qrow in need of some bail money. “Hey, sis,” she says, her voice several registers higher than normal. “Can we talk?”</p>
<p>“… you mean other than what we’re doing right now?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, like face-to-face.”</p>
<p>Ruby checks the time on her phone. Usually Yang’s still catching up on sleep or just having breakfast.</p>
<p>Unless she already ate with someone else. “… oh my god.” She realizes so abruptly that the words just slip out! She definitely doesn’t mean to draw attention to the fact that Yang very obviously just hooked up with someone, presumably the one girl she’s been pining after for several months now, because probably her sister’s freaked out sounding thing has something to do with exactly that. </p>
<p>Probably should not draw more attention to it.</p>
<p>“You’re not helping, Ruby.”</p>
<p>Because of exactly that reason. “I don’t know what you mean,” she lies, badly. “But we should talk! You want to do like a coffee shop, or I guess I could come to your place—”</p>
<p>“Not my place,” Yang answers way too fast, and that pretty much confirms it.</p>
<p>At least this time Ruby takes it in stride. “Okay, my place. It’s … well, if I say it’s clean that would be a lie, but it’s presentable enough for you. You won’t die under a pile of dirty clothes or whatever.”</p>
<p>“Not something a person usually has to clarify when having guests over.” </p>
<p>“Yeah, well you invited yourself.”</p>
<p>Yang actually laughs, a real genuine laugh, and that releases some of the tension Ruby’s started feeling grow inside her chest. If she can still laugh, maybe this is all going to be okay. “I’ll be there in like forty minutes, maybe an hour. You want me to bring you anything?”</p>
<p>“A bagel, please. With scallions and cream cheese. Lightly toasted.”</p>
<p>“Is that all?” Yang’s voice has settled into something a little more neutral. </p>
<p>Maybe the normalcy of Ruby’s appetite has lulled her into a familiar comfort, and Ruby certainly isn’t going to deny her that. “Latte with oat milk, if you’re already going there.” She pauses. “Actually, if you’re somewhere that does any kind of egg on a biscuit, bagel, or a roll? I’d like that too.”</p>
<p>“It might be a little more than forty minutes.”</p>
<p>“I can wait!”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Yang arrives with second breakfast and a very carefully neutral expression. That’s how Ruby knows something big is still off. None of that usual grin and not even a little bit of a saunter.<p>But however much it’s weighing on her, Ruby still has enough time to make it through half her bagel before Yang manages to spit any of it out.</p>
<p>“So, about Blake.” She’s attempted starting with approximately the same half a sentence about six times now. “She, uh… Well, she.” At this rate, it might be faster if Ruby were to guess. “She sort of… has wings.”</p>
<p>Okay, no, that would have never been one of the guesses. </p>
<p>“She…” Ruby drops the bagel onto the plate, completely forgotten. “Could you repeat that?”</p>
<p>“Wings. Like in her back. Big pretty black ones.”</p>
<p>Ruby’s certain she must be staring, but she’s not really aware of anything any part of her body is doing. Not in an actual sense where any of this feels real. Suddenly, she feels kind of numb. “… how come I haven’t seen them?”</p>
<p>“I only saw them this morning. After we, uh…”</p>
<p>“Had sex.” Ruby blinks. “That’s not the important part here, Yang.” She waves her hand, rapidly. “Explain <i>more</i>, please.” </p>
<p>“Well she says she’s an angel, or formerly was one, I guess. She’s sort of retired.” Her knuckles drum on the table, maybe just to give her hands something to do. “I don’t know, she’s a little vague about it.” <i>And everything else</i>, Ruby thinks, but doesn’t interrupt. “But that’s why she doesn’t say a lot about herself. She’s trying to, you know… blend in. With people.”</p>
<p>“Oh, thank god!” Ruby had begun sitting right up on the edge of her seat but she slumps back into it again. “I was worried she was actually some kind of weirdo.” She picks the bagel up again and takes another bite. “This is better, I guess.”</p>
<p>“What were you imagining that’s weirder than wings?”</p>
<p>Another bite, but she tries not to talk too much with her mouth full. “You know, like emotionally weird. Like if she’s someone who’s mean or manipulative. That’d be a lot worse than someone who just has slightly different physical features than most women.” She wrinkles her nose. “Don’t be narrow minded, Yang.”</p>
<p>“Look, I’m very open!” Yang’s palm strikes the table this time. “I’m like an open door.”</p>
<p>Yeah, obviously, since that’s apparently why she’s seeing Blake’s wings now— but actually no, Ruby’s not going to dwell on that.</p>
<p>Except to wonder how it would work. How does it impact Yang’s ability to perceive them? What are they made of if they’re only visible sometimes? Only way to begin to reach conclusions is through careful observation, or at least secondary knowledge obtained from someone who probably only observed with a medium amount of care. “What’d they feel like?”</p>
<p>“Hard to describe.”</p>
<p>“Well, make more effort than that!”</p>
<p>Yang’s chair scrapes back against the floor and Ruby thinks there goes another twenty bucks from her deposit; she’s pretty sure she might actually be in the negatives at this point. “You know, I didn’t come here to have you write a thesis on her.”</p>
<p>“… sure. I knew that.” </p>
<p>“You sure?”</p>
<p>Ruby scoffs around her next mouthful of bagel. “Sure, you want advice. Relationship advice, because I’m such an expert.”</p>
<p>Judging by the look on Yang’s face, the reality that Ruby’s only really been involved in that awkward early stage of dating just the one time — and that was all the way back at the start of freshman year of college — must have just hit her again. “… well, it’s useful sometimes just saying things out loud to someone else.”</p>
<p>“Like that your girlfriend is an angel.”</p>
<p>Yang leans forward again, her shoulders hunching. “I wouldn’t really say she’s my girlfriend.”</p>
<p>“Oh my god.”</p>
<p>“We haven’t put a label on it!” Her eyes shift back to the table, her hands clasping and unclasping. “And besides, I’m not sure she’s ever going to agree to see me again now that I know her secret.”</p>
<p>That seems unlikely. If anything, Blake probably feels a sort of obligation to keep an eye on someone who knows her secret, but Yang probably isn’t looking for reassurance that makes their relationship sound like a form of blackmail. It’s probably not comforting at all.</p>
<p>Instead, a more important topic: “Hey, is it offensive to say that now?” </p>
<p>“Say— what?”</p>
<p>“Well if the girl you’re sleeping with is some kind of, you know, heavenly being or whatever. I don’t want to offend her if she’s not a monster trying to deliberately break your heart and swap you out with Weiss or—”</p>
<p>“Ruby, focus.” </p>
<p>“Is it still okay to say ‘oh my god’?”</p>
<p>Yang stops and actually stares. “… you know, that never came up.”</p>
<p>“Really?” Ruby’s genuinely surprised. “What did you two even talk about!”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>History, while always very enjoyable, has never been one of Ruby’s stronger subjects. She’s bad at retaining names of places and precise dates. Themes, geographical features, or moments of exact cause and effect all stick better in her mind than those precise pinpoints in history that nail all those puzzle pieces into place.<p>If she was a little more familiar, she’d probably recognize more of the places and times that Yang is describing to her.</p>
<p>Because apparently Blake saw a lot of them. The rise of this kingdom and the fall of that. She’s been there to see wars and famine, the changing face of mountainsides. The kind of stuff that probably makes a person a lot more quiet and small inside themselves, or could easily mute the world around them. It’d be easy to see the rest of us as only ants, insignificant in the face of all that time and change.</p>
<p>But instead she’s chosen kindness. Thinking about it fills Ruby up with a feeling of warm fondness that usually only comes when she thinks of very dear friends she’s known for years. She wonders if any part of Blake feels the same way about her, even though they’ve barely talked.</p>
<p>She really wishes they were talking right now. She has a million questions to ask Blake, starting all the way back to the birth of the planet. What it was like to witness evolution first hand and does she remember the color of sunsets before the ozone changed? Ruby wants to know about the stars in the sky that aren’t there anymore, burnt out so long ago. Does night time look like a stranger to her now, or does she just not get attached to any of it anymore?</p>
<p>Maybe she should write all of these down. </p>
<p>Later, that is, when Yang isn’t watching her so expectantly, like she probably just asked a question that Ruby didn’t even hear.</p>
<p>“Do you need me to repeat that again?”</p>
<p>“Yes, thank you.” Ruby smiles. </p>
<p>Yang is so accommodating, especially when Ruby is so obvious. “I said from the way she talks, I don’t think she really stays in one place for long. At least, not in the past.” </p>
<p>Ruby considers this. She still has a very fuzzy grasp on the timelines, but that does ring true, and would explain the lack of a tangible history to offer up in casual conversation. No wonder she’s so evasive. “Are you sure that it’s not just that time is kind of abstract to her? What’s long to us might seem short to her.”</p>
<p>“No, I think she’s running from something.” Yang’s shoulders hunch forward and she lowers her voice. “Or from… someone. I don’t know. She didn’t talk about it exactly, but she told me the wings weren’t supposed to be there anymore.” She drums her fingers on the table. “In fact, um.”</p>
<p>“Um?”</p>
<p>“She still can’t see them.”</p>
<p>“Crazy!” An idea occurs to Ruby and she starts to ask it before her rational mind can catch up to her mouth. “So does that mean she’s never just—” But Yang’s head also seems to be ahead of Ruby’s self-awareness because she’s glaring in a way that registers with Ruby’s brain and stops the rest of the words before they make their way out, falling into a, “You know what, never mind, I think we don’t need to know that, or at least I don’t. Maybe you do. That’s a thing you can discuss… later. After learning if she’s your girlfriend.” She pauses only long enough to catch her breath. “Do angels just not do girlfriends, is that the problem? Or have you just not asked?”</p>
<p>“We were kind of discussing bigger things this morning.”</p>
<p>“So you haven’t. Asked, I mean.”</p>
<p>Yang slumps back in her chair and crosses her arms. “No.”</p>
<p>“And there aren’t.”</p>
<p>From the look on Yang’s face, she doesn’t quite follow and is weighing whether it’s time better spent working it out or just asking for an explanation directly. Apparently, she decides. “What aren’t?”</p>
<p>“It’s not more important.” Ruby finishes off the bagel and rubs the crumbs from her hands, focusing on a particular speck of cream cheese that’s lodged under her fingernail. “I mean, sure, obviously, it’s pretty important. You’ve found out something new about the girl you like and that changes things between you, a little, but only if you don’t figure out how to talk with each other, which is what’s happening right now.” She finishes getting most of the cream cheese out for now and looks up with a smile, satisfied. “But it’s not more important than your happiness, so you should ask, and learn how to talk.”</p>
<p>There’s a sound in the hallway followed by the rattling of a key in the door. </p>
<p>Yang turns her head sharply. “… shit.” She swivels in her chair, staring in the direction of the door, and then quickly turns back to face Ruby. “You didn’t tell me Penny was coming over!”</p>
<p>“She has a key, I don’t know when she’s going to be around all the time!”</p>
<p>Yang leans in, hissing in a whisper, “Weren’t you just saying something about communication?” </p>
<p>Ruby rolls her eyes and stands in one movement, calling back over her shoulder. “Yeah, but I meant like important things like if you’re dating or only sex buddies with an—”</p>
<p>“Ruby!”</p>
<p>Yang’s tone of voice is so alarmed that it stops Ruby in her tracks. She turns back just in time to catch a few quick slicing gestures that suggest <i>”knock it off”</i> before Yang replaces the flustered concern with an almost convincing smile.</p>
<p>“Yang,” the voice from the doorway says, sounding very pleased but equally exhausted. “I didn’t know you’d be here!”</p>
<p>Yang gestures between them, saying, “Same.” </p>
<p>Her hands continue to move, some other broad gesticulation, but Ruby’s already turning back again to cross the short remaining distance — it’s a relatively small apartment — from the table to the door and right into Penny’s arms, which open to take her in. </p>
<p>That’s also cause and effect. </p>
<p>Penny causes her to need to be held, and it’s very effective.</p>
<p>“You smell like cold,” Ruby mumbles from her new spot with her face pressed up against the crook of Penny’s neck and shoulder. “Is it cold out?”</p>
<p>Penny gives her a firm squeeze that she can feel all the way through herself, straight into her core. “It’s just not as warm as you are. You’re very warm, and comfy too.” But she releases her grip (slightly) when Yang awkwardly clears her throat. “I’m sorry, though, I didn’t mean to interrupt you two!” Another (smaller) squeeze and then she starts letting go of Ruby entirely, but her hand still lingers at her wrist, rubbing lightly. The loss of her arms is a terrible feeling, but the lingering fingertips are still nice. “I can go study in your room so the two of you can talk.”</p>
<p>Everything about Yang’s posture and demeanor is screaming she wants this conversation to stay private, and Penny has gotten a lot better at learning body language over the years, especially Yang’s and Ruby’s. Neither of them are very subtle, at least.</p>
<p>Like how Ruby can barely contain the sigh building inside her. Sure, this whole heavenly being not of this realm thing is interesting and everything, but alternatively she could be cuddling with her girlfriend and Yang could go discover whether or not she has a girlfriend and everyone would probably be happier just being direct about the things that they want. </p>
<p>But judging by Yang’s face, that’s not how this is going to go down. Not yet, at least.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Ruby says and a bit of the sigh kind of creeps in there anyway. “I’ll come grab you in a bit.” </p>
<p>As Penny pulls away, her thumb against Ruby’s pulse is the last thing to break contact. Ruby pouts in exaggerated — but only just! — disappointment, watching her girlfriend walk away. </p>
<p>Her eyes dip down, just briefly. She likes the way that Penny’s hips move when she strolls off. It’s confident and calm, like she’s so at peace inside herself and inside this apartment. Like she’s completely settled into the role of Ruby’s girlfriend, the way she just exists and is. It’s satisfying to watch.</p>
<p>Then Ruby turns her head and sees Yang’s sunken face and a lot of that satisfaction slips right out the door with Penny.</p>
<p>“… you’ve just got to talk to her.”</p>
<p>“About what?”</p>
<p>“Not about the—” Right, no, don’t say wings. Come up with a code. Some other thing that’s not wings and is really subtle. “—bird you saw and she didn’t.” Nailed it. “You should talk about how she makes you feel and how you want to know more about her.” She walks back over to the table and begins unwrapping the egg sandwich. “And I assume you want to have sex with her again, so you should talk about that at some point, but probably don’t lead with it. Though maybe being old makes her kind of practical?” She takes a bite and immediately regrets leaving it long enough to start going cold.</p>
<p>As if reading her mind, Yang says, “Don’t forget your coffee.” </p>
<p>Ruby nods and takes a big gulp, slurping, “Thank you,” and wipes her mouth as she sets it back down again. “But you know that I’m right, that’s why you’re talking about coffee instead of answering me.” This time the only answer from Yang is a scowl. “It’s a weird and awkward conversation to bring up. Talking about feelings directly is really hard. It feels stupid, especially because there aren’t a lot of examples. It’s not how things happen in TV, movies, or books, unless it’s really poetic, like only in metaphors.” She takes another bite, mumbling around a mouthful of egg, “But I don’t think you should use metaphors because those can confuse people and you want to make it clear. You liked her before you knew she had wings and you still like her. Right?”</p>
<p>“… yeah.” </p>
<p>“So what’s the problem?” </p>
<p>Yang stares a moment, as though she’s processing. That’s normal, in a way. Not everybody’s mind moves a million miles a minute like Ruby’s does, and she’s had to learn to be patient. “… shit,” Yang says eventually. “Doesn’t it feel like this should be a problem?”</p>
<p>“Sure, but that doesn’t mean it has to be one.”</p>
<p>“What if she leaves?”</p>
<p>“Anyone can leave at any time.” Ruby takes another bite, chewing faster and faster like the friction will cause enough heat to warm her eggs back up. “I think—” She stops, swallows, then tries again. “I think that you might be worried about what happens if she stays and you have to figure stuff out.”</p>
<p>“I thought you said not to get poetic and just be clear when you’re talking.”</p>
<p>“No,” Ruby answers firmly. “I said no metaphors.”</p>
<p>Yang laughs and leans forward, her chair squeaking. “I don’t know, I think maybe…” She stops and glances in the direction of Ruby’s bedroom where Penny’s probably got headphones on listening to music while she works, but it might not be worth the chance. Yang inclines even closer, dropping her voice down to a whisper. “The bird feels kind of like a metaphor, right? In a weird way.”</p>
<p>This time it’s Ruby’s turn to stare because it hadn’t occurred to her, not at all, and now she has to process. </p>
<p>In a weird way, yeah, something about this feels poetic and grand. Like a fairytale or a movie you catch late night on a Saturday and you cry watching it alone at 2am but the ending is happy, because the ending is always made to be happy because all of it has to have meaning. Every loss and death happened for a reason, and all those people had to leave.</p>
<p>She kind of hates those kinds of stories, but they’re so hard to turn away from. Like a car crash of someone’s life.</p>
<p>Oh no, now she’s the one thinking in metaphors!</p>
<p>“Ruby, you’re doing it again.”</p>
<p>She is. </p>
<p>She blinks, and just like that her brain resets. “Sorry, you’re right.”</p>
<p>“Which part?”</p>
<p>“I was distracted.” She pauses. “And also that it’s like a metaphor. A little bit, at least. I can see it.”</p>
<p>Yang’s mouth moves like she’s about to smirk but is resisting the impulse since it might just be bad luck. “So what kind of omen is it?” </p>
<p>“This isn’t really my area of expertise, but I don’t think you should let yourself look at your life like it’s a story written by someone else.” She takes another sip of coffee. “That’s how you become a passenger in your own existence.”</p>
<p>“Isn’t that a metaphor too?”</p>
<p>Ruby frowns, annoyed at being called out. “I never said that I can’t use them!”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>They talk in circles for almost another hour, and for about half of that time Ruby’s completely out of food and trying not to feel miserable. It was her idea, after all, to put so much of her time and effort into making this happen for Yang. She just hadn’t realized it would be time and effort happening during her free hours away from work as well, when her girlfriend is right there in the other room not being cuddled or in fact cuddling in return.<p>The sacrifices she makes to be a good sister.</p>
<p>On the upside, somewhere around the 53 minute mark Yang decides that she and the girl she can’t stop thinking about probably should talk again.</p>
<p>But then, the revelation: she doesn’t have her phone number or her address. Nothing.</p>
<p>“Kind of an awkward conversation for the bar,” Ruby mumbles, trying to imagine whether or not Blake will still take up the same amount of space on her normal stool if she has wings extending out of her back. Have they always been there, just not visible, keeping people away? </p>
<p>She tries to picture whether or not she’s ever moved around her close enough that she would have brushed against them or felt something, even briefly.</p>
<p>Yang shrugs and says, “Yeah, but what are my choices?”</p>
<p>There are none, not anymore.</p>
<p>Maybe at one point the choice was “be more direct,” or “be more honest.” Maybe the choice was “say what you want, and what you want is to have her number.” Assuming angels even answer texts. </p>
<p>But now there’s only waiting.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>And wait they do. Because tonight comes, and nothing. Tomorrow night? Nothing.<p>A week and a half goes by, and no Blake.</p>
<p>Yang’s demeanor starts to change, in small but very obvious ways. She’s short tempered with the pushy guys she usually knows how to charm and more than once Katt has to take over with a client. </p>
<p>It’s enough for even Jaune to notice. He asks Ruby about Blake one day, when they’re all cashing out, and she tries to avoid the question. Ren asks if Ruby has seen her. Even Pyrrha notices that empty stool at the bar once week two rolls around with still nothing, no one. Everyone notices the quiet girl in her absence, but none of them as much as Yang who looks like she hasn’t got a full night’s rest in all of those two weeks.</p>
<p>Anyone can leave at any time, Ruby had said, but she didn’t intend it as omen. </p>
<p>She’s starting to suspect that she knows exactly what kind of metaphoric black bird this is.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. occasional thunderstorms with a chance of snow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Before Blake came along, Yang’s days had all kinds of variety. Most of the time it was errands for herself or the bar, but at least her mind was always on one of a million different things. She could focus on things other than a girl who suddenly seemed to vanish into thin air.<p>Maybe that’s what happened.</p><p>Maybe she found her wings again after they talked and flew off to somewhere else.</p><p>Yang wishes they had talked more that day. Ruby’s right, talk is how you solve these kinds of problems, most problems, not just really good sex. It’s not like Yang meant for sex to be the only thing, but it’s hard to figure out the order words are supposed to even fit in when the person you’re talking to is stretching and flexing her wings overhead. </p><p>But what Yang wouldn’t give to see those feathers graze against the door frame as she steps into view, even if it’s just one last time.</p><p>She has so many questions.</p><p>She wants to ask if she’s happy now, wherever else she goes at night. Because it matters to her that Blake’s found happiness. It’s only been a few months, but it matters so much now. Funny how a person can just fit into your life that way and then pull something out in their absence. With other losses, they were there for longer. The cuts were deep, but anticipated over time.</p><p>Bar patrons are unreliable, in and out, and Yang never expects to see the same ones again.</p><p>But Blake was different, and not just because Yang took her home.</p><p>It’s the way she seemed to care about all of them, Ruby and Weiss too. How she smiled in a way that reached the corners of her eyes when she talked to Pyrrha. It made her feel present and real, a consistency they could depend on. </p><p>Maybe Yang wanted too much too fast, but at least she deserves a chance to be told that to her face.</p><p>A chance to talk about the things she’ll miss, and maybe give her this fucking scarf back.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>One thing she misses is Blake’s laugh. Yang hasn’t heard it a lot, so it really sticks in her head. The weird part is that she doesn’t even remember what she said to make it happen. She wishes she did, she’d say that kind of thing all the time just to get the same response. Not that it matters anymore.<p>Not that there’s going to be another chance.</p><p>She misses the curve of her back, how she hunches her shoulders when she leans in to whisper to you, like the two of you are the only people left in the world. Thinking about it now, Yang wishes she knew what that posture looked like with her wings stretched out, arching overhead.</p><p>She misses the way it felt to have another focus outside the bar and her family. How she looked forward to their talks, and the things that Blake actually made her think about. Things she hasn’t let her mind land on in years, like a future. Think too much about the things you want but can’t have and it can eat away at you. She’s seen what it did to her uncle, after all. </p><p>But when it’s someone else asking, the questions become harder to avoid, and Yang found that the thoughts aren’t as frightening once they’re said out loud. Even now that Blake’s not here to ask, she keeps thinking about those same damn questions. Yang dries a glass, feels the rhythm of the heavy bass rocking the floor through the soles of her feet, and she thinks about Blake’s black nail polish drumming the bar top, asking, “What next?”</p><p>Meaning after the bar, after Ruby’s college tuition is paid off, long term goals. The things Yang’s been running from.</p><p>She still doesn’t know.</p><p>But what if the question is something else. What if it’s more immediate, next step, right now.</p><p>If someone doesn’t want to be found, you can’t chase them forever. But if it’s just one goodbye, just a few questions you want answered. If you want to know what else she’d have ask you too, if she’d only stuck around. </p><p>If you need to find an angel in a city with millions of people, where do you even begin to look?</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>The first step to finding someone or something is to stop standing still waiting for it to come to you.<p>Yang needs to bring the variety back into her life. If she walks around the city often enough, sees enough faces and places, she’ll inevitably move herself closer than she is just hanging around in the bar feeling sorry for herself. </p><p>She starts visiting the breweries again. That used to be one of her favorite parts of the job, talking to the people who make the craft beer they rotate on tap, and learning about their process. One time Ruby tagged along. She asked a lot of questions, took a lot of notes, and Yang was surprised by how many of the answers she already knew herself. She’s asked plenty of questions over the years too, curious about the ways people can pour all this love into their work and then have something tangible to give to someone else after.</p><p>Bartending is a little bit like that, small acts of creation, but it’s gone a whole lot faster.</p><p>Free time gets lost almost as fast, and that’s how it all changed in the first place. Uncle Qrow started flaking out more and more, disappearing nights and then weeks at a time, and Yang found it harder to make long haul visits out to these warehouses on the outskirts of the city fit inside her schedule. Without his car to borrow, she had to schedule using Ruby’s truck instead and the kid has got plenty on her plate already.</p><p>It just became easier to come into the office a few hours early and call orders in from the poorly ventilated and under-lit room in the back. They haven’t repaired the overhead lights in the last three years. Never seemed like a priority when the only people who see it are staff. The money could be better spent somewhere else, not the least of which is putting more directly into the pocket of her team. Weiss and Pyrrha’s talents don’t come cheap, for one.</p><p>Yang’s starting to think maybe some of the budget could go toward better lighting in the staff spaces, improved conditions for her and Ruby. Maybe if the place didn’t look like such a hell hole, Qrow might even stick around the next time he swings through like a man-shaped hurricane of sadness and anxiety. </p><p>But probably not.</p><p>Like everything, it’s a process. Even people are like that.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>So step one is actually more like step zero-point-five. It’s time, at last, for Yang to get a car of her own.<p>Her first impulse is something lean and compact, but obviously that’s not going to help her haul barrels cross town or pick up side deliveries. She needs space and a big back end. Ruby’s truck does a pretty good job, and so would a big enough van. That at least could come in handy when Nora needs to pick up talent from the train station. </p><p>The more uses she can come up with, the better she feels about moving some of her savings into what still looks like a luxury. She’s not sure she’s earned the glamorous life of someone who goes where they want and feels in control of their own destiny, but she’s going to grab for it anyway. Call it high class ventures of a seatbelt and steering wheel, which are basically the only real requirements she’s got at this point.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>The van is affordable, with good mileage, and unlike some of the other options on the lot it doesn’t smell so strongly of air freshener that Yang’s convinced  there’s a barely masked scent of vomit stuck to the back seats.<p>This one actually smells alright as is, and all the windows work. It’s not revolutionary or anything, but it’s functional, clean, and runs well. Sure, the color’s a little boring. It’s just a white that’s started going closer to grey, but she can always paint that sometime down the line. It might be a fun day project. Bonding or whatever between her and Ruby. Maybe Penny can help out. She’s got steady hands. </p><p>Yang’s getting sidetracked. Too busy daydreaming from behind the wheel. She leans out to smile at the blue-haired guy showing her around the lot. “I’ll take it. Can I drive it off?”</p><p>He smiles back and runs his fingers through his hair, carefully sculpting it back from his eyes. “Of course.” His other hand comes to rest on the edge of the open car window, leaning in. “You’ll just need to fill out a little paperwork and you’ll be right on your way, feeling the wind in your hair, the excitement of—”</p><p>“I’m already going to buy it,” Yang cuts in. “I don’t really need the extra sales pitch.” She starts opening the door, pausing just long enough for him to back up. “In fact, I’d pay extra for you to stop.”</p><p>He laughs and flashes an extra large grin. “I’ll hold you to that.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>When it’s all said and done, it ends up costing more than Yang thought it would.<p>But what matters is she’s got wheels! And a quick phone call out to one of their regular suppliers lands her an appointment that afternoon to pick up a keg and talk future business. </p><p>On the phone, Marrow sounds surprised. “You’re coming? As in you, yourself?” </p><p>“Yeah, what? Don’t you miss me?” Yang laughs, but doesn’t wait for an answer. She’s too smart to set herself up for disappointment like that. At least not twice in one month. “I’ve got a new ride, and I want to talk to you all about future business. That stuff works easier in person, I think.”</p><p>In the background of the call, Yang can just make out Harriet’s voice saying something sharp and snide before she’s shushed by Marrow, who raises his voice to drown out his partner. “Sure, we’d be thrilled to have you. We’ve just been working to expand our operation, actually, so—”</p><p>Now Yang definitely hears Harriet talking over him, saying, “Who are you blabbing that to? Marrow, hang up the phone,” and Yang wonders how she’s let herself go so long without seeing these two in person. It’s weird how people can slip in and out of your life that way, so present for such a long time and then it’s like they were never really there.</p><p>That’s something she’s been thinking about a lot lately, for obvious reasons, but it turns out it extends past the angel and maybe one or two of those absences were actually on Yang.</p><p>Let’s call rectifying some of that step two.</p><p>“Sorry, I’ve got to go. But talk later?”</p><p>“Yeah, in person.” Yang hits a bump in the road and her cell phone skids across the dashboard. She needs to find somewhere to put that, clearly, but in the meantime she shouts to be heard, saying, “I’ll be there in like an hour?”</p><p>“Jesus christ, what’s that sound?”</p><p>The dashboard has started rattling. It’s a small vibration, but probably enough to make a whole lot of noise through the phone itself. “Don’t worry about it! All good!” </p><p>“It sounds like you’re in a tornado.”</p><p>“I’m so fine!” Although the shouting probably isn’t making Yang’s case for that. “One hour?”</p><p>“Yeah, okay.”</p><p>Marrow hangs up with such speed that Yang thinks he might have agreed to a time just to get off the phone and away from the noise.</p><p>So maybe there were some flaws Yang overlooked in the van when she made her purchase. That’s to be expected. Every plan has a few wrinkles to get ironed out, some standard obstacles to overcome. Some dips in the road to drive on through.</p><p>Even if the next one in this particular road jolts the van so hard that Yang almost bites her tongue.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>It takes a little more than an  hour for Yang to make it that far outside the city. It’s the time of year when the roads ice over in the morning, thaw just a little in the hottest time of day, then freeze again in different places as the temperature drops back down in the later afternoon. It means everyone’s driving really slow or really stupid.<p>More than once she resists the temptation to roll down her window and shout at total strangers. That’s not at all the kind of of self-improvement and zen shit she’s aiming for.</p><p>Even if she lays on her horn a couple times.</p><p>Hey, baby steps. </p><p>When she pulls in about fifteen minutes later than she predicted, nobody’s in the parking lot to meet her. She tosses her keys idly and kicks at the gravel, releasing some of the energy built up in an hour spent only sitting. Not even Vine’s there working on the delivery van. </p><p>Maybe it’s too cold? Her breath mists on the air as she walks across the lot, and Yang thinks it might start snowing any day now.</p><p>She should ask Ruby what she thinks. The only person on planet earth who enjoys the first snowfall even more than Yang does is her sister. Given everything she knows about science, it’s possible Ruby’s started developing her own theories on meteorology, or found a way to track the weather patterns in anticipation of the first snow day. Could be there’s an app on her phone that predicts it, especially given Penny’s overlapping interest in engineering.</p><p>It’s something like engineering?</p><p>Yang’s still a little fuzzy on the specifics of what they both do outside their focus on renewable energy.</p><p>Which is a solid reminder to not mention that the new van doesn’t have the mileage they promised at the dealership either. That blue-haired asshole is starting to annoy Yang more and more, but hey, this is just a start. Give it a few years and maybe she’ll be able to buy something more sustainable. If things go well, by that point baby sister could have developed some new affordable technology that makes everything that’s on the market now obsolete.</p><p>The future planning cuts short there. As soon as Yang steps through the back entrance, she’s met with a wall of sound that knocks out any of her other thoughts. She remembers that Harriet prefers to work with music blaring and the rest of them prefer to keep Harriet happy. </p><p>It’s so warm inside the building that Yang immediately loosens her scarf. </p><p>She tries not to think about where it came from or how the soft fabric reminds her of soft black feathers.</p><p>Tries not to, but obviously she’s unsuccessful since Elm manages to catch her by total surprise coming up from behind her to grapple Yang into a big bear hug. “It’s been so long, short stuff!”</p><p>For a brief moment, Yang’s legs dangle off the ground. She has just enough dignity to avoid kicking them in startled terror, but only just enough. “Oh,” she gasps. “Yeah, so… long.”</p><p>Apparently satisfied, Elm sets her down again.</p><p>Yang unwinds the scarf even more, feeling suffocated. </p><p>“Do you have time for a tour? We’ve grown a lot since your last time here.”</p><p>Yang’s contemplating whether or not she has the time to commit to the enthusiasm that Elm has for their product before another voice cuts in. “Excuse me, but I handle the public relations and you all know that!” Marrow pops into view, all smile and swagger. She’s not sure how long he might have been standing right there, just hidden behind all of Elm’s muscular bulk. He’s not exactly a big guy, but he makes up for it in attitude. “Come on, Yang! There’s so much to show you.” He laughs. At what, Yang has no idea, and turns to walk away without even one look back to make sure she follows. “Like I said on the phone, we’re expanding soon.” He laughs again and turns to give Yang an exaggerated wink. “Just don’t tell anyone else, alright? Or Harriet will have a fit.”</p><p>“Yeah, I noticed.”</p><p>They begin to slow near one of the barrels at the back where Harriet herself is carefully inspecting the valves. She’s lean but muscular, artfully designed tattoos of the skeletal system winding up her dark arms and across her shoulder blades to meet at the base of her neck, just below a neatly cropped undercut. </p><p>She startles at the sound of their approach, but relaxes after obviously registering the familiar face, even if her smile is less warm than Marrow or Elm’s. “Couldn’t stay away forever, mm?”</p><p>“Yeah, my apologies.”</p><p>Harriet ducks back down and pulls a tool from her back pocket. A wrench of some kind? Maybe. “Just when I thought I’d escaped…”</p><p>Yang eyes the label stenciled on the side of the tank. It’s an image of a wolf’s head, howling at the moon. </p><p>She doesn’t recognize this one.</p><p>But she must be staring too long again, too focused, because Marrow steps in between her and the barrel with a wide grin on his face. “This is new, and no you can’t ask for its name yet.” He lifts his eyebrows meaningfully. “But you can have a taste next time.”</p><p>“If next time is two months from now,” Harriet mumbles and then immediately scowls, like she’s annoyed with herself for saying too much, which is usually Marrow’s job.</p><p>Yang doesn’t mind relieving the shift into tension with a careful change of subject. “Well hey, I’m here for what’s available now.”</p><p>“Sure, but we want our loyal customers to know that we’re expanding.”</p><p>Harriet stands up quickly at that. “Marrow.” </p><p>Marrow gives her a look, then back to Yang. “… and that you won’t say anything, of course.”</p><p>The truth is that Yang almost doesn’t care. Her business is the bar and nothing else they do is really going to change that or what she needs from them. “Yeah, of course.” It’s always nice when friends succeed, but she’s not concerned enough for one of them to stress out unnecessarily if they’re not ready for whatever it is to go public. It’s kind of like with Weiss and Pyrrha. Sometimes people need to figure their own stuff out at their own pace. But Yang can tell they’re expecting her to say something more, so she does. “What kind of expansion?”</p><p>“We’re working to get an online storefront going so we can control more of the distribution as well as the front end.” </p><p>Harriet nods. “But we’ll need to start bottling more here ourselves. Cut out the middle man.” She looks at Yang evenly, her voice careful and guarded. “Which is why this has to stay quiet for now.”</p><p>“Clover’s not going to take the loss of business well,” Marrow explains in an uncharacteristically neutral tone.</p><p>Not that Clover ever takes any loss well.</p><p>He’s the way that Yang met the fine folks here at Aesop Brewery. He used to be an equal partner with the rest of them before branching off into distribution and more managerial roles. That’s where he met Uncle Qrow. </p><p>The last time Yang saw Clover was two Christmases ago, before he broke Qrow’s heart for the third time. </p><p><i>“Pursuit of other opportunities,”</i> he’d said.</p><p>Come to think of it, maybe Clover is another reason Yang’s been avoiding coming back here.</p><p>There’s certainly no forced neutrality in her tone when she says, “He can learn to live with his shitty decisions.” </p><p>To their credit, Harriet and Marrow don’t try to say anything to that.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Everyone has to live with the consequences of their own dumb mistakes.<p>Clover was one of Qrow’s mistakes, in the end, and his slow slide back into alcohol and depression was the result. Cause and effect, like Ruby’s always saying. Harder to blame that part on their uncle himself, even if he has to take some responsibility for the results that came after. The real genuine hurt and the fact that Tai and Qrow are barely on speaking terms for the time being.</p><p>That’s a whole other mess, but there’s always time for more growth. </p><p>Just look at Yang. </p><p>Here she is with a van full of kegs, carefully navigating the even more dangerous roads of early night fall, on her way back to the bar where she already spends most of her nights. </p><p>Laid out like that, maybe it doesn’t seem as impressive.</p><p>Especially since she’s both running later than she wants to be and getting pretty concerned that Ruby’s not picking up when she calls. Should she try bothering Penny instead? She’s not always that much more observant, so she might not notice the ringing either, and it’s possible that they’re not even together. Ruby should have left by now and Penny could be at her own place, or visiting with her dad.</p><p>Yang’s reaching across the dash for her cell phone again when she takes her eyes off the road. It’s only a second, even if it’s stupid. Just a second, and then there’s a sudden flash of white, bright and blinding.</p><p>She swerves and almost hits the sidewalk before slamming on her breaks. </p><p>The car immediately behind her lays on the horn and swerves around her as Yang’s hands tense on the steering wheel. She breathes in deeply, shoulders shaking from pumping adrenaline, and she tries to regain a sense of her surroundings. </p><p>Several cars honk as they fly past, but Yang’s focus is elsewhere.</p><p>She was just about to call Ruby again, and then… something was in front of her van. </p><p>It was big, bright, and definitely there a second ago even if the only thing ahead of her now is the overcast skyline. Shit, it looks like rain.</p><p>Yang’s still puzzling this shit out when her phone rings.</p><p>It’s Ruby.</p><p>“Shit, Ruby, where have you been?” </p><p>“Yang? I’m sorry.”</p><p>Her voice is almost shaking and any anger that had started to build up inside of Yang, fueled by adrenaline and anxious energy, immediately evaporates. “Yeah, hey, what’s up? Are you okay?”</p><p>“Well, I am, I’m fine. But the truck is… not.”</p><p>The timing is so insane that Yang could almost laugh. “Well, good news. I can come pick you up.”</p><p>“What, like you’ll carry me?”</p><p>“No, I got a new van. Today.”</p><p>Ruby is silent for a long moment and then, “Wow, what are the odds of that?” From the sound of her voice, she might actually be running the numbers in her head. “Are you sure you have time?”</p><p>Yang glances at the time on her phone. </p><p>She doesn’t. Not really.</p><p>“Yeah, sure. I’ll just call Nora and tell her and Ren to open for us.” And she’ll pray every single minute she’s not there that Nora doesn’t accidentally set the whole place on fire. “It’ll be fine.”</p><p>“Jaune can help too.”</p><p>That isn’t as comforting as Ruby seems to think.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>One unnervingly upbeat call with Nora later — in which she asks way too many times if Yang is sure about coming in tonight at all — it doesn’t take Yang very long to get to Ruby, even if Penny somehow beats her there.<p>She’s about to ask what the point of her coming is if they’re both so willing to spend money on a cab, but then she rounds the side of the truck and just stops.</p><p>The front end is totally demolished.</p><p>“… shit.”</p><p>“I don’t know what happened!” Judging by the amount of manic energy Ruby’s exhibiting, Penny hasn’t been there for long. Usually her presence manages to calm Ruby, or at least turn the manic into excitement instead of stressed, but there’s still a lot of arm waving going on. “I was driving responsibly, like you know I always do, and then suddenly! Out of nowhere, there’s just this big flash of white, like a blinding light. Like a semi going down the wrong way or something, so I swerve and—”</p><p>“You hit a mailbox,” Penny cuts in. “Are you sure you’re okay? Nothing’s sore?”</p><p>Ruby’s arms wave again. “How would I know? So much adrenaline! I could be missing an arm and I wouldn’t feel it.” She stops and appears to actually check that both arms are there before continuing, at an only slightly lower volume, saying, “I almost puked in my mouth, and that was really gross.”</p><p>“But only almost, so baby steps.” </p><p>Ruby holds out her hand for a very small high five and Yang obliges out of pity more than anything else. </p><p>Yang knows she felt a strong emotional attachment to that truck and the devastation is going to start hitting home once all the adrenaline wears off. “The mailbox survived. That’s actually kind of impressive,” she says, as an attempt at a distraction.</p><p>Penny turns her head to examine it and Yang could honestly swear from the look on her face that she’s calculating something about its fundamental structure and design. Eventually, she turns back with an only slightly wicked grin on her face. “You think it would have been a federal crime if you destroyed it?”</p><p>“Penny, no! We don’t have time.”</p><p>Sometimes it’s like they’re talking their own shorthand language.</p><p>Penny laughs and moves close to hip check Ruby, gently. She catches Yang’s eye and must realize the way Yang has started assessing the damage with added care, because she immediately cuts in, saying, “It isn’t going to catch fire. I already checked.”</p><p>“… yeah. Of course you did.” </p><p>“It was the second thing she did after making sure I don’t have a concussion.” Ruby bounces on the balls of her feet. “Which I do not! My brain is always like this.”</p><p>“Just the way I like it.”</p><p>Yang groans and grabs the back of Ruby’s hoodie to start dragging her toward the van. “Thanks, Penny. You’ll wait here for the tow truck, right?”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>Ruby’s arms are flailing again. “I’ll miss you!” </p><p>She’s also yelling loud enough to make Yang wince. “Do you not want me to take you to work?”</p><p>Her arms immediately lower and cross over her chest along with a very large pout. “I can go to work and still miss my girlfriend, Yang. It’s called multi-tasking, and I’m very good at it.” They’ve just reached the passenger side door when Ruby finally takes actual notice of the van. That is, she blinks and frowns, considering it carefully. “Why’s it yellow?”</p><p>Yang scoffs. “It is not yellow.”</p><p>“Like a smoker’s teeth yellow.”</p><p>She releases Ruby’s hoodie and starts walking to the other side. “It’s white.”</p><p>“Off-white.” </p><p>“Still more white than yellow.” </p><p>Ruby hauls herself into the passenger side seat and gasps loud enough that Yang almost fumbles the keys as she fits them into the ignition. “Oh my god, did you buy a van to match the color of your girlfriend’s eyes?”</p><p>Yang’s hand stills mid-motion, about to gun the engine. </p><p>In that moment, she can see them, just so clearly. Bright and blinding, like Blake is walking to her out of the growing darkness of the night. </p><p>For just that moment, Yang almost forgets how to breathe. </p><p>“… too soon? Sorry.” </p><p>And Ruby means it, Yang can tell, but she doesn’t want to talk about it. Not now. </p><p>“It’s fine,” she lies, and turns the key. </p><p>The engine grinds to life and the clouds part overhead. </p><p>Thunder cracks. </p><p>As rain begins to fall, Ruby cranes in her seat to make certain Penny’s safely tucked away inside the truck. </p><p>Out of the rearview, Yang catches her waving to both of them just before the rain starts falling so hard that it’s impossible to see that far behind them.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>There isn’t any crowd out front once they get to the <i>Rusty CrowBar</i>. It figures that the rain would drive most people off, but maybe there’s a decent number of them already inside. She can just make out Ren watching them from underneath the awning, the hood of his thick black rain jacket partially obscuring his face.<p>He tensed the moment they pulled up, but hasn’t made any move to help. He probably can’t see that it’s them through the heavy curtain of rainfall. </p><p>“Do you have an umbrella?” Ruby asks while she appears to wrestle with her seatbelt. For a super genius, sometimes she’s distracted during very simple tasks. </p><p>“In my brand new van that I just bought today? No, of course I don’t.”</p><p>Ruby rolls her eyes. “You need to be more careful, Yang. You could catch a serious cold that way.”</p><p>“Well, where’s yours?”</p><p>“Back in Crescent Rose.”</p><p>Ruby’s so attached to the truck that she actually named it. </p><p>Yang resists the impulse to sigh. “Look, just—”</p><p>But she doesn’t get a chance to say what just, because Ruby’s pulled her hood up and opened the door. A rush of wind and rain flies in and Yang is instantly soaked. “Wow,” Ruby shouts. “Real end of the world stuff here!”</p><p>There’s a flash of black feathers rushing through Yang’s mind. Stories of cities brought to their knees and ancient vengeance, swift and sure. She blinks and forces herself not to consider it, not seriously, even as she pulls the scarf tighter around her neck, shouting over the roar of the wind. “Just close the door, would you?” </p><p>By now Ren’s realized it’s them and he’s jogging over with one very large green umbrella in his hand, already opened. He holds it out over Ruby’s head and peers inside. “I hope you didn’t steal this.”</p><p>It only half sounds like he’s joking, but Ruby laughs with her whole chest. “Not that I’m aware of! But I almost committed a federal crime tonight. At least, I think there’s a pretty good chance it’s one.” She spins back to look at Yang, who is still way too wet to be happy about it. “Is it only considered tampering with the mail if you do it on purpose?”</p><p>“Ruby…”</p><p>She turns back to Ren. “Sorry, right. We have kegs! With beer, obviously, and we’ll need help getting it in.” </p><p>Yang checks the weather app on her phone. “The rain’s supposed to stop in about twenty minutes. We could come down and do it then.” </p><p>“Or we can handle it,” Ren insists. “Jaune, myself, and Nora, and you could get cleaned up in the back.”</p><p>Ruby nods. “You’re better behind the bar, Yang.”</p><p>Maybe that’s true, but it hasn’t been as fun there lately.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Katt’s working bar alone when Yang steps inside, actually dripping wet. A few of the regulars she spots look ready to ask questions, but she gently pushes her way through the small crowd — at least it’s not too empty — to the back room where she keeps a change of clothes.<p>She wrings her t-shirt out over the cramped bathroom sink, annoyed with herself for unzipping her jacket far enough in the car that the rain managed to nail so much of her outfit. Sure, she’s got a tank top to change into, but there isn’t another pair of jeans. </p><p>She braces a chair under the doorknob the way she’s seen characters do on TV and hopes it’s the kind of thing that actually works in real life.</p><p>Yang unzips and peels the jeans off slowly, grimacing at the way the damp fabric clings to her skin.</p><p>It’s so fucking gross. </p><p>She shimmies the rest of the way out then holds them underneath the very low heat of the bathroom hand dryer. The sound is just a very persistent hum, too faint to distract Yang from the tedium of what she’s doing or the mild embarrassment of standing around without any pants on in the back room of her office.</p><p>Just in case, she flips the lock on the bathroom door too. </p><p>Shit. </p><p>Today started out a lot better than this. She’s not sure where it all got out of hand. Life’s just like that sometimes. You make plans, and that’s when it falls apart. You get excited, let your heart get set on something. And what’s it for?</p><p>What even lasts?</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>After roughly twenty minutes, Yang pulls the jeans back on. They’re still cold and slightly damp, but at least there aren’t any visible wet marks. It’s an improvement, even if the temperature behind the bar is probably too low to dry it any more than that over the next few hours of her shift.<p>It doesn’t matter, she’s got to get out there. </p><p>Any more time back here alone with her thoughts and she might start getting sentimental.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>it’s going to be at least a week before Ruby gets her truck back and she refuses to say anything about the cost.<p>Even Weiss has asked, like she’s ready to offer some of her savings, but that only makes Ruby even more stubborn. “It’s fine,” she insists. “I’ve got money saved up in the mattress!” </p><p>Yang’s not totally sure whether that’s a figure of speech or not.</p><p>What she does know is that Ruby hasn’t got a ride until then, even if she goes out of her way not to ask for any extra help. Not that being a chauffeur to her sister was part of Yang’s epic multi-part plan — that’s been a little derailed right around step one — but it’s not like she has anything more concrete or more important than Ruby’s school work ahead of her right now.</p><p>If Ruby’s not going to ask directly, Yang knows she can get it out of Penny, no problem.</p><p>“Yeah,” Penny’s saying on the phone, though she sounds a little distracted. Yang imagines it’s homework of some kind, since it usually is with those two. “She has a meeting with her professor tomorrow, actually, pretty early in the day. If you could drive her to that, I think it’d be a big help.”</p><p>In the background, far away, Yang can just make out her sister’s voice. “Babe, who’s on the phone?”</p><p>“It’s your sister!”</p><p>Penny really isn’t the kind of person who understands subterfuge, just like Ruby doesn’t do subtle. “Yang, I’m fine!” </p><p>She’s shouting loud enough to be heard clearly even some distance from the phone.</p><p>So, yeah. Obviously she’s the definition of just fine.</p><p>“What time’s the meeting?”</p><p>“It’s at 9:30 precisely.” </p><p>“Penny, noooooo.” </p><p>From the exact pitch and volume of Ruby’s voice it sounds like she’s gone from standing upright to slumped in a pile on the ground. But Penny doesn’t seem to be reacting. “Normally it’s a forty minute drive from her apartment to the campus, but I think you should account for probable delays.”</p><p>“Okay, tell her I’ll be there at eight, just in case.” She pauses. This next part should go without saying, but it’s Ruby; you always need to say. “And tell her not to come in tonight.”</p><p>Penny turns her head away, but Yang can still hear her saying, “She says that you should get rest tonight.”</p><p>“Betrayed!” Ruby’s definitely lying on the ground now. Her voice is muffled, despite the yelling. “By both my sister and my girlfriend. Infinite betrayal!”</p><p>“Sorry to ruin your night like this.” </p><p>She can practically hear the way that Penny shrugs. “She’ll have to get up eventually. It’s not comfortable down there.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Work is never the same on nights without Ruby there, but Yang’s become accustomed to having to put her sister’s academic career first. Even if that does mean she has way more of Jaune hanging around up at the bar than usual.<p>“I think the guy at table four might be a problem.”</p><p>Yang looks up from mixing the whiskey sour she’s making for the nice girl near Jaune’s elbow who is also clearly listening in on their conversation. She finishes the drink, hands it off, and gets the payment before refocusing on Jaune. “Can you keep your voice down, or at least come to this side of the bar?”</p><p>“Right! Sorry.” He clearly doesn’t intend to do the quieter thing, since he just shouted that before he dashed — it’s actually almost a jog — through the crowd to get back behind the bar directly alongside Yang. “So as I was saying, I don’t trust him.”</p><p>“Isn’t keeping an eye on people at the tables exactly what you’re paid for?”</p><p>“… yes, and I did that, so now I’m telling you.”</p><p>Yang winces. “Seriously, voice down. Please.” </p><p>Katt glances their way from her end of the bar, but says nothing. </p><p>The next guy in line tosses a wad of cash onto the bar. “Two vodka sodas.” </p><p>Yang tests the seltzer and starts to mix them. “You want anything specific?”</p><p>“Not shit?”</p><p>She gives him a wink and ignores the way Jaune is fuming at her side. She pours, pushes the drinks over, and grabs the money.</p><p>“Keep the change,” the guy smarms as he takes a sip and saunters off.</p><p>The change comes out to exactly $1.34. </p><p>Yang dumps it into the cash drawer for the night and turns back to Jaune. “You want me to kick his ass or something?”</p><p>He blinks, clearly startled. “What? No.”</p><p>“Then why are you telling me?”</p><p>“… Ruby and I usually, you know. Talk about these things.” He looks uncertain, like he’s actually considering whether or not this might not have been any of Yang’s business. Like a revelation is so close to dawning, before he doubles down with greater certainty. “She tells me if she thinks my instincts are in the right place.”</p><p>“Well, right now, this conversation, I’d say they’re pretty off.”</p><p>Yang puts a heavy hand on Jaune’s shoulder and he gulps. “… right.”</p><p>“You’ll do a better job watching table four if you’re over near your tables.”</p><p>He stands straighter, tossing the hair back from his face. “Right!”</p><p>Yang watches him go, but only for a few seconds. </p><p>There’s already another person at the bar, demanding her attention.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>They’re busy enough that the night passes quickly, even if that’s not nearly the last time that Jaune’s up there with unnecessary questions. Like how he’s become emotionally invested in a couple at table eight that he thinks are asking for way too many napkins. As if they can’t afford to give people napkins.<p>Then the guy at table four pays out and leaves without a problem. Consider that strikes one and two for Jaune’s amazing instincts. </p><p>The third strike comes in the form of Jaune himself lingering around to try to talk to Yang when she’s starting to close out. He’s leaning on the bar, watching her count the register, and talking about something. </p><p>Yang isn’t listening and she’s stopped offering polite hmmms in return several minutes back.</p><p>But he doesn’t take the hint until she says it directly. “I’ve got to get home, dude. I told you, I’m picking up Ruby in the morning.”</p><p>“Right! Sorry.” </p><p>He doesn’t sound sorry, not exactly, but maybe a little remorseful.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>That is nothing compared to the remorse that Yang feels in the morning when her alarm goes off and she’s only had about five hours of sleep. She throws a pillow at a wall, just to feel better.<p>But it doesn’t help. </p><p>If anything that soft <i>flumpf</i> is discouragingly soft. It makes her want to sink back down in bed for another hour at least. </p><p>She hits the snooze on her phone, just once, and rolls over. She stretches her legs out under the blankets, toes wriggling, and finds the empty expanse of sheets on the other side of the bed, cold and vacant. There’s something strangely comforting about sheets that are still chilled, untouched. It feels fresh and inviting. Like you can trick your brain into thinking you did the laundry just last night, instead of the reality where you haven’t changed them out in two and a half weeks.</p><p>Normally, that’s what it does.</p><p>But this morning she stretches out in the bed, feels the cold untouched sheets, and her mind flashes back to the last morning she woke up with someone else beside her. Blake brought so much <i>warmth</i> to the bed, the way her feathers almost radiated with heat. Not unpleasant or too hot to touch, but soothing somehow. Like you could dip your fingers directly into the feeling you get when someone hugs you from behind. The way she stretched and moved in response. The smell of her that lingered on the sheets until Yang was too frustrated in her absence and washed them.</p><p>Suddenly, she opens her eyes.</p><p>The bed is empty, except for her. The sheets are cold and don’t smell like anything at all.</p><p>She sits up and rubs her eyes slowly. So much for a few more minutes of relaxation. Yang reaches for her cell phone and kills the secondary alarm before stumbling to her kitchen in nothing more than boxers and a t-shirt. She grabs cereal from the cabinet and pours herself a cup of coffee, straight black.</p><p>That’s her usual, but looking at the dark liquid now, she thinks of something else. </p><p>It’s going to be one of those mornings; Yang can already tell. She pours a little milk until the coffee turns a caramel brown instead. It tastes different than she’s used to, but it’s still enough to wake her up. That’s all that matters. </p><p>Because it’s just fifteen minutes before she has to go get Ruby and Yang hasn’t even found her pants or decided on a shirt to wear. She paces around her apartment, sipping the coffee as she walks, and locates her jeans close to the front door. Check.</p><p>For a shirt, she grabs a simple sweater. If she ends up seeing any of Ruby’s academic friends around when she drops her off, she probably shouldn’t be wearing a t-shirt she got at a concert or anything like that.</p><p>This is respectable, at least. In a way.</p><p>Without really thinking — without allowing herself the time to think — she grabs the black scarf to complete the outfit and heads down the staircase to the front lobby of her building. She checks the mail before she goes and grabs the pile of mail to take along with her. Maybe she’ll have time to sort through it while she waits for Ruby to finish her meeting, whenever that is. Yang intends to drive her home too, after all.</p><p>The more she thinks about it, the more she’s convinced she should stop and get a second coffee for the road. </p><p>It’s definitely one of those days.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>One coffee for Yang, one for Ruby, and two bagels (both for Ruby) later, they’re finally on their way out the door.<p>Penny’s still asleep, which hasn’t stopped Ruby from talking loudly the whole morning, but if Penny was a light sleeper then she probably wouldn’t still have Ruby in her life. </p><p>Or maybe she uses ear plugs at night? </p><p>It doesn’t matter. The point is Ruby’s already bouncing off the walls, and that’s before she’s had all of her coffee. She hooks her arm through Yang’s and dragged her through the door. “Come on! Professor Goodwitch awaits.”</p><p>It’s difficult going down a set of stairs with your arm wrapped through someone else’s, but the obvious reality of that doesn’t seem to have slowed Ruby down at all. </p><p>Yang almost stumbles, but recovers quickly with a hand on the rail. “Is that really her name?”</p><p>“Yes, it is.” Ruby releases Yang’s arm, though it’s unclear if it’s out of concern or so she can more easily chug her coffee. She slurps loudly and swallows. “It’s a funny name, I know, but she’s very professional. Very respectable.” More chugging, this time complete with Ruby actually tilting her head back.</p><p>“Please don’t choke before your meeting.”</p><p>Ruby lets out an exultant sigh of triumph that burbles softly with the last swig of coffee that hasn’t completely gone down. She gulps and wipes her mouth. “I will not choke!” She makes a sound like a half-swallowed burp and grins. “Not on my coffee or my … well, I’m not sure what it is you choke on, actually, when you’re just nervous about something and then you mess up. Your pride? No, I don’t think that’s it. Anxiety? No.” Yang opens the passenger side door for Ruby and gestures for her to climb in. Which she does, frowning in an absent-minded way. “It’ll come to me.” </p><p>She takes another sip as Yang crosses to the driver’s side and climbs in. “You sure you’re not nervous?”</p><p>“Yes. I mean, I’m not.” </p><p>The engine starts and Yang just gives a, “Hmmm.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Because you’re talking even more than usual.”</p><p>“I don’t think that’s necessarily true. You brain might just be slower than usual because it’s morning and also you’re a little bit sad.” Yang can see Ruby visibly wince out of the corner of her eye. “… yeah, sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Maybe I’m nervous.”</p><p>Yang cranes her neck to make sure no cars are coming before pulling away from the curb. “It’s fine. And you’re going to do great.” </p><p>Ruby’s cradling the coffee cup in both hands, while her thumb flicks the popped tab of the plastic cover, over and over. “Thanks.” She rotates it around in her hands a few times and then takes another sip. </p><p>“You’re welcome.”</p><p>They ride in silence for some time, nothing but the jittering chug of the van as it rattles along to keep them company, before Ruby finally says, “I bet this isn’t how you saw this week going.” She turns her head to look at Yang, who only shrugs. It’s clearly not enough of the reaction — or start to a conversation — that Ruby wanted, so she continues. “They say that when you make plans, god laughs at you.”</p><p>“People say a lot of made up shit, Ruby.”</p><p>She scrunches up her face in consideration. “Sure, but now it seems like maybe god is real, or at least angels are. So I guess it’s worth reconsidering at least some of the things we’ve just dismissed as unlikely.”</p><p>That’s several steps further than Yang really wants to go, with any of this. </p><p>She frowns and flexes her grip on the wheel. “Well, if anyone’s watching, I bet they’re having a blast.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Yang finds a spot in campus parking and waits there.<p>It’s still a grey and chilly morning, so she keeps the windows rolled up, even as the car gets stuffy. </p><p>The pile of mail is roughly eighty percent junk that she should shred and compost later, so it doesn’t take very long to get through it. The only valuable things in there are bills for the bar and a few things forwarded to her from Qrow’s old address. </p><p>One of those looks like it’s about an unpaid parking ticket but it’s been so long since he drove that Yang’s pretty concerned this could actually result in jail time from total negligence. Maybe she’ll have Ruby handle that call with Uncle Qrow; they’ve always had a better rapport anyway. She’s definitely not in the mood to talk to him now, when it feels like Ruby might return at any minute. </p><p>Since Yang lost track of what time it was when she went in, that’s actually a possibility. Maybe it’s later than she realized?</p><p>She checks her phone. 10:03am. </p><p>So maybe not. </p><p>Yang browses the internet for a awhile, checking her news feed, but that’s even more stressful than the thought of calling her uncle. Even talking to Qrow about whether or not he’s likely to be arrested for neglecting even more of his basic responsibilities seems better than acknowledging the state of the world.</p><p>She’s just about to consider closing her eyes and try to nap when she spots a flash of something across the parking lot.</p><p>It’s bright and white. It’s blinding. </p><p>Bright white feathers stretch outward toward the sky, sprouting out from the back of a mature blonde haired woman with her hair twisted into a tight bun. Wings. Another woman with wings. </p><p>Yang just barely remembers to turn off the engine and grab her keys as she hurries out of the van. </p><p>She’s not sure what she plans to do except follow her — talk to her, find out answers to the things that have hounded her — but she’s only a few steps closer when she finally notices Ruby walking beside the woman.</p><p>Oh, shit. Yang stops mid-stride, trying to take it all in.</p><p>This woman walking beside Ruby, the sort of stern and composed one who absolutely appears to be some kind of an angel, turns her head to look at Yang. A single carefully coiffed eyebrow raises as she obviously takes note of the fact that Yang’s eyeline is looking just past her face to stare at the wings stretched out behind her. She must notice it, though she says nothing.</p><p>Ruby doesn’t pick up on it, probably too caught off guard by Yang rushing fast in their direction before abruptly drawing up short. </p><p>She blinks. “Um, Professor, this is my sister.”</p><p>“A pleasure, naturally,” the angel says and her wings swell up so high they nearly block out the already cloudy sunlight. </p><p>It’s ominous as hell and Yang can’t help but glance upward. </p><p>When she looks back, she can tell that Professor End of Days here has absolutely noticed. “… naturally.” Yang tries not to let her voice squeak, but it’s harder than it ought to be.</p><p>Judging by the puzzled look on her face, Ruby can tell that something is off but that she has no idea what. She looks back and forth between them — an exaggerated and ever growing look of confusion on her face — before she finally says, “So anyway, about my proposal?” </p><p>When the angel who apparently spends her daytime hours pretending to be a college professor shifts her attention back to Ruby instead of Yang, the threatening sense of foreboding hanging overhead decreases rapidly. </p><p>Maybe she’s not about to send the fury of an all knowing and eternal being down upon Yang for noticing that she definitely has wings. </p><p>Or maybe she’s waiting until Ruby looks in the other direction. </p><p>Either way, it’s just now — when they’ve resumed their impenetrable conversation about renewable energy resources and plant biology — that Yang realizes she’s still holding her car keys out in front of her like she’s handing them off to someone. Really it’s just the result of her stopping mid-stride, one arm extended, but it looks more threatening (and weird) than she intends, so her arm drops.</p><p>The way her hand flops uselessly at her side isn’t really normal looking either. </p><p>Ruby definitely glances her way, watching long enough to register when Yang gestures that, you know what, she’s going to go back and wait in the van. Which she does, walking quickly, with only a few glances back over her shoulder to confirm that, yes, that’s still an angel talking to her sister in a university parking lot. </p><p>Back inside the van, through the fog of the dirty windshield, it looks even weirder somehow.</p><p>In the early morning sunlight of Yang’s bed — on the woman she’d been daydreaming about for months — the wings had almost made their own kind of sense. Dark and beautiful, they suited Blake. It had all clicked in this way where it was so obvious she was telling a truth, her truth, for the very first time. It felt beautiful, if temporary.</p><p>Here in this shitty parking lot watching Ruby and her professor still carrying on for way too long, this feels different.</p><p>Maybe it’s the way she holds herself like some kind of avenging force of justice, but Yang does not feel comforted (at all) by this angelic presence. All the less so when it’s clear she knows Yang recognizes what she is.</p><p>Occasionally, Professor Goodwitch looks this way and Yang averts her eyes (way too late). </p><p>Shit.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>The conversation lasts another half an hour, more or less, and Yang doesn’t stop watching the entire time. It’s not often you see an angel standing out in the middle of a city, and when it comes to one with white wings this is actually a first for even her.<p>Ruby spots her looking occasionally and doesn’t hide the confusion from her face (not completely) but whatever she thinks is happening, it doesn’t stop their talk. Yang hopes it’s at least a productive discussion. Ruby’s favorite class and all. </p><p>Right as they finish, it starts to snow.</p><p>“Shit.” </p><p>Yeah, more shit. Yang starts the windshield wipers and cranes her neck to get a better look at the sky. The clouds moved in faster than she realized. When her eyes drop back down to earth, the angel is staring again. At first Yang thinks she might be watching Ruby walking across the parking lot, but in between the lashing of the wiper blade she gets a pretty clear look.</p><p>Professor Goodwitch is definitely looking right at Yang.</p><p>“… shit.”</p><p>The door opens fast, letting in a blast of cold air that makes Yang shiver. </p><p>She turns her head to meet Ruby’s confused scowl. “Are you going to tell me why you were perving on my professor? That’s really weird, Yang, even for you. Sure, she’s attractive, I’ve got eyes, but one, as stated, she <i>is</i> my professor and additionally you’re still supposed to be lovesick over an angel.”</p><p>“Well, actually—”</p><p>“And another thing!” Ruby cuts her off and opens the car window. She starts to shake some of the snow off her hat into the parking lot outside, but in the process lets just enough of the fresh snowfall in that it feels pretty counter productive. “Actually, strike that, that’s the only thing, because all I could think about was you being weird. She noticed it too, you know, the way she kept looking over here.”</p><p>“You didn’t think that her looking so much was also weird?”</p><p>Ruby stops midway through pushing the window back up again, distracted by the question, so Yang takes it the rest of the way for her. “… I guess that was also a little weird, yeah.” She turns and blinks right at Yang, pulling her hat back on. “What was that about?”</p><p>“Your professor is an angel.”</p><p>When Yang turns to check Ruby’s side view mirror, she gets a pretty good look at her sister’s sputtering, flustered face. “That’s an even weirder thing to say!” She gasps, just a few seconds later, as though realizing. “Unless you mean the real kind.”</p><p>“I do mean the real kind.” </p><p>Ruby gasps again. “Actually, that’s worse.”</p><p>Yang resists the urge to look across the parking lot to see if they’re still being watched. </p><p>She feels certain that they are. “I know.” </p><p>She’s not sure what she expects. For the professor to take flight in a public parking lot and land on the top of their car maybe? For her to lift them to the roof of a building and then drop them over the edge?</p><p>What they get is a lot less spectacular, but still oddly threatening.</p><p>Because she’s still lingering in the parking lot, Yang has to drive past her on the way out. Professor Goodwitch smiles and waves, casual and composed, but at the same time her wings stretch, shaking snow loose in a small flurry that draws Yang’s eyes, however briefly, before she quickly looks back to her face. She feels like a kid again, realizing the attraction to a woman’s low-cut top but not knowing how to avoid her eyes dipping when they shouldn’t. </p><p>Next to her, Ruby does a really unconvincing impersonation of a person not freaking the fuck out, although she’s definitely freaking out.</p><p>At least she waits until they’re a little further out on the road before she starts verbalizing it. For all Yang really knows, angels might be really good at lip reading. “So does this mean she’s always been an angel? Like the entire time I’ve been in her class, she’s been my normal professor but also some unearthly being?” Ruby is breathless, as if she’s been running at the same speed as her thoughts. “Because she seems pretty normal. I mean, I’ve seen her eat food.”</p><p>“I think they can eat, Ruby.”</p><p>“You’re not basing that on anything but your gut with Blake, since you haven’t had a real date yet.” Ruby pulls her hat off again, more to keep her hands busy than for any other reason. She rubs more snow out of her hair and scowls. “Do you think I can talk to Professor Goodwitch about this? There’s so much analysis I could be doing, and it’s just a waste if nobody’s even willing to talk about the possibilities. I don’t want speculation! I want the <i>facts</i>, Yang, and if my professor can provide them—”</p><p>Usually when Ruby’s on a roll like this there’s no point in interjecting, but Yang feels it’s wise to really cut this whole idea off early, before she reaches full momentum. “You shouldn’t tell your professor you’ve worked out her secret identity.” She glances over just in time to catch Ruby’s devastated expression. “You’ve seen enough superhero movies. You know this.”</p><p>“Oh, wow, when you put it that way…”</p><p>Just like that, the whole train of thought idles out, replaced by silent consideration. </p><p>But Yang’s got plenty of questions of her own, so she decides to prompt Ruby to keep providing answers.  “So you never suspected, I guess.”</p><p>“I didn’t even know this was a possibility until a few days ago.” Ruby puts the hat back on her head, now notably damp since the snow started melting. “And I didn’t even consider that angels who are still, I guess you’d call it <i>employed</i>, in their traditional sense could also be working normal jobs on earth. Would you say it’s earth? Compared to—” She sighs, waving her hand vaguely. “It feels really silly saying heaven, but it’s a useful shorthand, so obviously there are angels in heaven or wherever they and their wings come from and then there’s the ones here. But I guess if an angel was going to do good here, teaching renewable energy is actually…” Oh, there went a brand new line of thought, and this one’s moving so fast Ruby doesn’t try articulating it out loud.</p><p>Not without a little nudging first. “Actually?”</p><p>“It’s useful, isn’t it? For the world, I mean, and so—” She snaps her fingers. “Unless she’s fallen too. Do you think so? Did you get that kind of vibe? She’s way less emo than your not quite girlfriend.”</p><p>“I don’t know. Her wings were white and Blake’s are black?” </p><p>“Yes, and?”</p><p>Yang glances over with a shrug. “Do you think that makes a difference?”</p><p>“White and black as representations of good and evil are a concept that comes from art and media, not actually grounded in reality. I think Blake’s are black and Professor Goodwitch’s are white because it suits them.” She pauses, her eyes widening slightly. “Oh, but did they suit her? Were they kind of, you know, hot?”</p><p>“You’re the one who called me weird!”</p><p>“From you, it’s weird, from me it’s merely observation.” Ruby waves her hands around again. “You know I don’t even mean it like you, horn dog, but I like a good aesthetic.”</p><p>It is true. Ruby’s demi, after all — something she knew even before she had the words for it, and she’s got words for most things — which usually means that she likes to talk about how hot people are in an abstract way that never leads to anything except lots of observations about angles and stuff like the golden ratio. She doesn’t actually feel things for people until she <i>feels</i> things for people, which also means she thinks she has a free pass to drool over strangers that doesn’t extend to anyone else, especially her sister.</p><p>Sometimes it feels a little unfair, especially given how quick she is to tease Yang about stuff, but it’s true that their libidos are really different.</p><p>So of course, Yang tries to humor her. “They were big, but not as big as Blake’s.” She looks over again and can tell from the way Ruby’s scrunching up her face that she’s really, really trying to picture it. “But in sort of arches, like I think they could extend longer. More like a curve, I guess. And really, really white, but with bits of grey in some places. I don’t know, maybe that’s the pollution.”</p><p>Ruby laughs, sharply, and then resumes her intensely quiet focus.</p><p>Which is obviously Yang’s cue to keep going. “So, yeah. They suit her, if that’s actually your question.”</p><p>“It was, yes.” She nods. “Thank you.”</p><p>“No problem.” </p><p>They hit a bump in the road and everything rattles. </p><p>Yang’s teeth snap shut and she nearly bites her tongue. It’s so close, in fact, she can imagine the taste of blood clearly. </p><p>Weird. </p><p>“Hey, Ruby.”</p><p>“Mmhm?” </p><p>“You don’t think your professor is the type to do the fiery vengeance thing, right?” The silence that follows is unnerving, but sometimes Ruby needs it to process. Still, Yang offers further clarification. “Like on someone who figured out her identity, I mean.”</p><p>Ruby’s lips pucker in very careful thought. “Not on you, no, I don’t think so. But maybe someone who litters. Do you think she can cause like premature signs of aging? Oh!” She gasps and sits up straight. “What if angels are the reason bigots usually look like a toe?”</p><p>Yang laughs. She can’t help it. “It could be, I guess.”</p><p>“If you find Blake again, you need to ask her. If you don’t, then I’ll have to ask Professor Goodwitch.” Ruby rubs her hands together to warm them up. “For science.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>It turns out that snow storm was just the start of the cold weather.<p>The next day, Yang wakes up to her windows completely blown out with freshly fallen snow. Condensation pearls on the windowsill. She wipes it up with the edge of her shirt on the way to the bathroom and winces at the freezing cold tiles underfoot.</p><p>Winter came on fast. </p><p>She wishes that she could drive everywhere now, even if it’s just to pick something up from the corner store down the block. What’s the point of running out for a coffee when you come back so much colder than you left? The single pot brewer in her kitchen hasn’t been cleaned in six months, but now seems as good a time as any to try it. </p><p>Yang scrubs away while listening to a podcast about how brewing beer is impacted by the ever increasing changes to weather patterns. She wonders if Ruby would have anything to contribute.</p><p>Probably. Ruby’s got something to say about most things, even when she’s not fully informed yet. She’s good at figuring out the right questions to ask and routes to take. A part of Yang thinks this would all be easier if she had a mind that works like Ruby’s, that could pull her problems apart and analyze things. She’s not good at that.</p><p>Most of the time, Yang doesn’t even know how to look at an issue in a way where she can articulate her problem and ask for help.</p><p>Not that asking for help is easy under even the most ideal circumstances.</p><p>She turns on the TV and tries to zone out to whatever comes up first on netflix. It’s a reality show with a whole lot of pretty people with no morals. She wonders what an angel would make of all this decadence. If it feels like some kind of horrible sign of the world’s decay, or if they like a little trash the same way mortals do.</p><p>Yang thinks maybe it depends on the angel.</p><p>Somehow she thinks the kind that really get under your skin — so that you’re thinking about them even on a random Saturday morning watching pretty people make out on a beach in time to a shitty EDM dance track — might enjoy a little decadence every once in a while. Maybe. But it’s hard to know.</p><p>More and more, the further that morning gets away from her, the more Yang realizes that she doesn’t really know Blake.</p><p>She knows the woman she imagined, sure, but that all got wiped away real fast when the woman turned out to be more than that. An angel, a mystery, a lifetime of stories and Yang didn’t know how to ask the right questions. She has so many regrets, but not realizing how little time she would get is the biggest.</p><p>That’s sort of a long standing one, though.</p><p>Thoughts of mom come rushing back, clouding over all her new regrets with the old familiar ones. Yang turns the TV off, pulls her jacket on, and walks out into the heavily falling snow. Anything to take her mind off of reality. </p><p>Half a block and she’s already freezing down to her bones. Her boots are mostly water resistant, but the snow is falling sideways now, flying right at her face. The people she saw when peeking out of her window this morning have vanished from the sidewalks. She’s almost entirely on her own and under other conditions the quiet might be nice, but as it is she’s spitting snow out every couple of clomping steps. </p><p>She pulls the scarf tighter around her neck and squints against the swirling white.</p><p>For a moment, just a moment, Yang thinks she sees something else. </p><p>A streak of color — dark, sharp, clear — against the snow. A flash of black far off along the horizon, turning the corner. </p><p>And then it’s gone.</p><p>Gone, but just around the corner. Still close. Yang picks up her pace, kicking through the snow — trying not to stumble — as she rushes for the end of the block. She almost falls knees first into the snowbank shoveled up to clear a path. She nearly twists her ankle, but she doesn’t stop.</p><p>She braces herself with one hand and keeps going until she’s at the corner. </p><p>Yang rounds it at a steady clip, each panting breath fogging the air ahead every time the scarf slips from her mouth. “Blake,” she calls, before her brain catches up with everything else and she registers that there’s nobody there.</p><p>No one at all. Not even another stranger dressed in black.</p><p>Nothing but snow.</p><p>It doesn’t really make sense, but that’s starting to be a pattern. Yang stares so long and hard into the scattered, distorted fragments of white, like she can just will her body into superhuman vision. Like she can make herself see further, all the way across the city. Wanting to become someone who can see the dark through the light, even when it’s blinding. </p><p>But there’s nothing.</p><p>Yang is so focused (for so long) that she doesn’t feel her cell phone vibrating. </p><p>Not until the second call back.</p><p>She answers, fingers numb and her voice ragged with her heavy breaths. “Yeah, hello?”</p><p>It’s her dad’s voice on the other end, immediately concerned. “Yang? Is everything okay?” And then, even louder. “You sound out of breath.”</p><p>“Yeah, it’s just—” She’s chasing some girl that she barely knows who seems so impossible Yang might think she made her up if Ruby hadn’t see her too. Not the easiest thing to explain without sounding crazy. “— you know, it’s cold.” She turns away from the sidewalk ahead, forcing herself to focus in on her dad’s voice on the line. “Why, what’s up?”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Dad wants to look at new lights. The ones currently hanging over the stage have been there for years and Weiss complains all the time about how unflattering the look is. It’s not like Yang has a lot of other plans today, at least not until her late shift. So she hops on public transit. The train will handle the snow a lot better than her van does. Maybe she should get snow tires put on for winter?<p>That’s a thing, right? </p><p>In the meantime, it’s back to riding with strangers politely avoiding eye contact. Everyone listens to their music and keeps their heads down. Avoiding each other is the more respectful option in a city this crowded. You let other people pretend they still have privacy and space.</p><p>That used to be Yang too, but not now. </p><p>Now she looks. Every corner she turns and every street she walks or drives on, she’s turning her head. She’s hoping.</p><p>It’s probably — no, definitely — crazy, but she can’t help the hope. That one day she’ll turn her head on the train platform, and she’ll be there. Big black wings, half-hidden smile. The kind of smile that says she’s happy to see Yang too.</p><p>That’s probably the craziest wish of all.</p><p>No, definitely. She’s naive, but at least she knows that.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Yang rides eight stops and gets off just a few blocks from where she’s meeting Dad. Her eyes do the now customary scan, considering the crowd.<p>There’s a baby strapped to its dad’s chest, legs kicking. There’s a cluster of school-aged children, looking bored. </p><p>So many people, living out their lives. </p><p>But no Blake.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Going shopping with Dad is always an experience. He hates everything about it — the atmosphere, the people asking if he needs help, the fact you have to give up your hard earned money at the end — but he insists on making it a family outing as often as he can. Like he thinks, maybe correctly, that suffering really brings people closer together.<p>That must be why he’s scowling at the nearest light rig like it personally insulted him. “You think Weiss will like this one?”</p><p>“I don’t think Weiss likes much, Dad.”</p><p>It feels like he was building to some joke and she didn’t take the right bait. He falters, looking openly disappointed, but then settles on a new tactic instead. “Except for Pyrrha.” </p><p>He winks, and Yang realizes that it’s basically the same one that she uses.</p><p>“Yeah, except Pyrrha.” </p><p>The frown’s completely left his face now, like it was always just there for show. “What’s happening with that now?”</p><p>It’s an uncomfortable question. Yang isn’t sure, not entirely, and even if she was, it’s not her place to tell her dad that, right? He and Weiss are close, always have been, but that doesn’t mean Weiss or Pyrrha are ready to invite even more people into this thing they’re still working through.</p><p>Which is the truth Yang settles near, evasively. “It’s complicated, I think.”</p><p>His eyes are back on the nearest light, studying it with excess care. “And you?” He doesn’t look up, but it feels like he’s staring at her anyway. “How are you doing, Yang?”</p><p>She’s starting to think this trip isn’t really about lights.</p><p>“Did Ruby tell you to call, Dad?”</p><p>This time he does look over. “No.” He folds his hands into his jacket pockets and relaxes his stance. It’s the same posture he’d use to reassure Yang after a failed test or really awful soccer game. “Is there something she should have told me?”</p><p>Good. </p><p>Their dad has enough on his plate. Sure, they all do, but Ruby helps with the responsibilities of running the place and there’s lots of delegation between Nora, Ren, and even Jaune. But Dad’s handling the finances — the big picture stuff with the landlords, the liquor licenses, the endless stacks of paper work — all on his own while still keeping an eye on his brother. </p><p>He doesn’t need to find out that angels and whatever else are real and Yang’s hung up on one who is clearly trying to ditch her.</p><p>“Not really,” Yang lies with the same smile she uses to get tips. She’s not sure that he buys it. Actually, she’s pretty sure that he doesn’t, but he turns away with a look on his face she’s seen plenty of times before. It’s the carefully contained frown from when he would catch her crying over mom and politely pretend not to notice. “Just figuring out some stuff.” </p><p>“Something other than how I can get Weiss to stop texting me death threats over these lights?” </p><p>His focus is fully back on the lights — or at least he’s making a good show of it — so Yang shifts her gaze that way too. “She said one of them almost fell on Pyrrha.”</p><p>“Did it?”</p><p>“Not falling, no. But she almost hit her head.” </p><p>“Not a whole lot we can do there.”</p><p>His phone vibrates in his pocket and he pulls it out for a quick glance. </p><p>There’s immediate annoyance on his face, and he’s terrible at hiding it. </p><p>“Dad—?”</p><p>He shoves the phone back into his pocket and forces a big grin. Yang wonders if her own is usually this unconvincing. “I think we’re going to have to call someone over here to see these lights with different gels.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>They look at different lighting setups and settle (reluctantly) on the fact that they need to invite Weiss along next time. She’ll probably want photos — a lot of them — of herself in different arrangements of light before she’ll agree to a replacement purchase.<p>Which means in a lot of ways this was just time wasted. </p><p>Except after the awkward side trip into talking around and never actually about Yang’s love life, they started having a normal conversation, just like they always do. He’s easy to talk to. It’s not as easy or natural as it is with Ruby, but it’s close. </p><p>“I can’t believe you wake up that early just to go run without any predators involved.” Yang gives him a playful shove, using her Dad’s shoulder to push through the first set of doors on their way out. “Who are you and what did you do with my Dad?”</p><p>“Woah, hold on, I surrender!” </p><p>He laughs and leans into the final rotating door, his smile obscured briefly behind the glass, before he disappears completely in the downpour of snow outside. It started coming down even harder when they were in there. </p><p>Yang shivers and ducks into her scarf and jacket. “Well, shit.”</p><p>“You’re telling me.” He lightly cuffs her head. “And don’t swear.” </p><p>“Oh, fuck off.”</p><p>Dad takes another swing, but Yang knows to dodge this time. She reaches out to scrape a pile of snow from the nearby windowsill, which she quickly balls up and tosses, aiming for his head. </p><p>He has just enough time to register surprise on his face before it hits him. </p><p>Dad sputters and runs fingers through his increasingly damp hair. “If I didn’t have somewhere to be, you’d be dead, kid.” He turns away, shaking snow off his head, and Yang obviously takes the opportunity to land another shot right dead center in his back. “Yang!”</p><p>Oh, is he seriously pissed? Maybe she misread the situation, and—</p><p>Yang is a few seconds away from starting to apologize when her dad spins back around with a small scoop of snow in his hands that he directly deposits down the neck of her jacket, right against the skin. </p><p>She screams and tries to duck away, but it’s way too late. </p><p>It’s so unbearably cold. </p><p>“Oh, sincerely fuck off,” she sputters and gasps, stomping her feet several times to try to shake the snow loose with full body vibrations. “Holy shit, Dad.”</p><p>“Never turn your back on your enemy or let your enemy turn their back on you.” </p><p>He’s laughing so hard that he barely gets it out. </p><p>Yang scowls. “You got the enemy part right.”</p><p>She’s about to say more when his phone actually rings this time</p><p>“Hey, truce.” He pulls it up towards his ear, stopping along the way to say, “This thing’s too old to be waterproof.” He winks. “Hello?”</p><p>Even from some distance, Yang can clearly hear Ruby’s voice on the other end of the line. “Are you almost here? Penny wanted to leave early just in case of the weather, so we’ve already got a table.”</p><p>“Oh wow, another betrayal!” </p><p>Yang makes sure to say it loudly and she can hear Ruby’s delighted squeal in response. “Dad! You’re with Yang?” The rest of whatever she says is so hectic with joy and confusion that it dissolves into noisy chaos that Yang can’t really make out. </p><p>Judging by the look on Dad’s face, it’s even more overwhelming on his end. </p><p>Eventually, he lowers the phone. “I’ve been told you’re coming to dinner.”</p><p>“Asked?”</p><p>“No, not exactly.” He lifts the phone again, lingers like that for a moment, then covers the receiver. “They’re both talking now.”</p><p>Yeah, that sounds right.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>It’s easy to spot Penny and Ruby’s table once they make it to the restaurant. Just follow the sound of their voices, rising higher and higher. They’re not really competing with each other, but building. One of them says something eager and ecstatic about engines and the other has a counter that apparently leads to even more excitement.<p>They’re practically shouting, though Penny sometimes remembers to gesture that they should both lower their voices. That usually lasts for about another minute or two. This is how they always are when left to their own devices.</p><p>They’re loud enough at the moment that they obviously don’t hear Yang and Dad approaching until they’re right on top of them.</p><p>Penny spots them first and her eyes light up eagerly. “Mr. Tai!” All these years later, and she still calls him that. “I have so many questions for you about IRA investments.”</p><p>Very obviously confused, he looks from Penny over to Ruby.</p><p>She shrugs, like the explanation should be obvious. “Penny’s planning investments for when she graduates.”</p><p>“I know it’s over a year away, but I want to have a clear plan in place.”</p><p>“Shit.” Yang unwinds the scarf as she sits. She leaves it hanging along the back of the chair and tries not to think about it. “You trying to show me up?”</p><p>Penny’s posture perks up. “Not at all!” She takes a sip of what looks like wine but might be juice. “That’s never my intention, though it might be an unfortunate side effect. I do apologize.” </p><p>Ruby’s arm shifts in a way so that Yang is pretty sure she’s patting a hand on Penny’s thigh under the table.</p><p>Gross.</p><p>“Everyone’s plans move at different paces, Yang.” It’s crazy how much that mirrors Yang’s own thoughts for the last few weeks, but somehow it sounds a lot more condescending and pitying coming from her kid sister. She must make a face without realizing, because Ruby’s hands are up, her voice rising too, saying, “That’s not a criticism! I mean it, you’re fast at other things.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah? Like what?” </p><p>She has no idea why she’s acting like this. </p><p>The day was so nice and now Yang’s feeling like some kind of asshole. Challenging and combative, for no good reason at all. But whatever tension she’s feeling, Penny’s not picking up on it. She’s her useful carefree self when she cuts in with, “Your driving!” Ruby’s head jerks around quickly, but Penny doesn’t seem to notice. “Ruby said that you drive <i>very</i> fast. Almost too much, in fact!”</p><p>Yang snorts.</p><p>Ruby’s hands flail quickly and then settle on Penny’s upper arms, gently shaking her side to side. “Ohhh, babe! Wow, haha. You’re so funny!” She kisses her, just to stop her from talking. Or at least, that’s how it seems to start. But the startled look on Penny’s face melts into something softer, easier.</p><p>They work so well together, and maybe that’s what was getting under Yang’s skin at first. </p><p>Maybe she’s jealous, but it’s hard to stay mad when they’re being cute like that. Even if it’s a little disgusting and goes on too long. Their kisses are always a little bit soft and chaste, at least in public. Their mouths connect, briefly, and then they just hold each other’s gaze for a while and it’s the quietest that either of them ever really gets.</p><p>Yeah, it’s cute, and Yang is definitely jealous. But she’s happy for them too.</p><p>This is like the planning Penny talks about. Some people, things just fall into place. It comes naturally. The two of them met in college and the first time Yang saw them together, it just made sense. They fit.</p><p>Isn’t it supposed to be like that? Not effortless necessarily, but at least logical and consistent.</p><p>You’re not supposed to have to chase, no matter what the stories in shitty movies might tell you. All of the relationships that Yang has seen, chasing only makes people seem to want to run from you faster.</p><p>Maybe it’s not planning that’s her problem, but what she’s focused on.</p><p>“So, Dad,” she says, and hears the chair creak underneath her as she settles her weight back, ready to listen. “You going to explain finance to Penny or what?”</p><p>He looks surprised, watching her like he expects this to be a joke that he just doesn’t know the punchline for. “You’re not going to be bored?” </p><p>It’s true. Yang has always left the finances to him, because that part of the business exhausts her. She can count out at the end of the night and allot everyone their pay. She’s good at earning cash and bringing in tips. But Yang likes money coming from her effort, from the very real sweat behind the bar and the rewards that come after. It makes sense and it feels like actual value. </p><p>The markets and everything else — Dad’s world of leases, bonds, all of that — drives her a little bit up the wall. It feels so fake and insubstantial. Like an illusion that you can’t rely on, and she’s had plenty of those in her life. </p><p>“Out of my mind, yeah,” she concedes, but she shrugs anyway. “I’m listening, though.”</p><p>New step one of a brand new plan: refocus. </p><p>Yang can’t rely on the things that were her constants in the past. She needs to think bigger if she doesn’t want to the world to keep shrinking in until she suffocates, and the first part of that process has to be broadening her horizons and rethinking her day-to-day. Not just in search of someone else, but to find other things too.</p><p>It’s cheesy and everything, but cliches are usually pretty true. </p><p>In a city with millions of people, the girl that Yang really needs to start looking out for is herself.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. freezing temperatures and icy roads</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>She remembers her first summer in Babylon. She remembers the way the sun glinted, casting long shadows of buildings that wouldn’t be there in ten years time when she returned. She remembers the sounds of people laughing who were gone in a blink.<p>The worst part is how easy it can be to forget.</p><p>She remembers places she’s been and things she’s seen. She remembers the sounds of forest fires and gunshots. She even remembers the screams.</p><p>But the faces grow fainter with each passing year and she does not know a single name.</p><p>He is the only constant, lurking in the back of her memory, a shadow cast furthest of all. Perhaps he is why it all fades so fast as her mind works to erase him from her history. It does not work. </p><p>He is always there, faster than anything. </p><p>More constant than hope.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>He saw her before she really saw herself. He knew her for what she was, at her darkest and worst parts.<p>She wonders if, even now, he would see the wings that still evade her.</p><p>Does she fear him for his vengeance and his blood lust, or is it whatever truth she knows she will see in his eyes that unsettles her so completely? What is she really running from?</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>There’s another face she does remember, even now.<p>It was a long, cold winter in Yorkshire. Cattle had died from the early frost and many would starve. The angels of death came to watch in the night, pulling children from their cribs. Little cries pierced the air, but were quickly silenced. </p><p>A farmer had become lost in the woods at dusk and could not make his way back through the densely falling snow. </p><p>When Blake found him, he was already as pale blue as the snow around him. She sank to her knees in the snowbank. She couldn’t feel it. She isn’t meant to feel cold, or anything else. But looking at him, the fear carved deep into his face, she felt something. It was new.</p><p>She knew that death would be coming and it isn’t her place to interfere.</p><p>What she knows and what she does are not one and the same. She takes his hand and his eyes come into focus. He sees her, clearly, though he does not seem to know what he’s seeing. </p><p>“Rebecca?”</p><p>He says it so softly, sweetly, that she’s certain it must be the name of his wife.</p><p>She smiles at him. “Yes,” she says. “I’m here.”</p><p>Her wings fold around them, a barrier against the cold. They spend the night like that, hands clasped as if in prayer. </p><p>The time, as it always does for her kind, passes swiftly. </p><p>She blinks. </p><p>Her eyes open. She hears the morning birds singing. How is it already dawn?</p><p>She looks, and he is gone.</p><p>It’s that face that she remembers. The way he’d stared up at the sky, face frozen in a smile. </p><p>She had stood quickly, recoiling. She felt fear for the first time in her life. She had defied her place, disobeyed, and for what? He had still died, even though she did not hear death come to claim him.</p><p>“All that for nothing,” she hears a voice say at her shoulder.</p><p>She smells the ash without having to turn to see the face. She is a bringer of death, one who enjoys her job more than most. That’s how Blake knows she is smiling, can hear the exact curve of her mouth. </p><p>She walks away without saying anything else. </p><p>For years, Blake avoids the cold. She avoids people too, as best she can.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>A decade passes. Another.<p>Time slips quickly, and then so does she.</p><p>Her life, such as it is, moves past her the way that sand slides underfoot. Tread carefully, cautiously, and you are steady. Lose focus for even a moment and a morning can pass. A month. </p><p>A mortal lifetime. </p><p>Sometimes she remembers the past, her past, as if it was just an hour ago. Eternity feels like a delicate fabric stretched across glass. Blake can look through her life to see the reality underneath. The way the world is for other people, the real people who matter, is so similar but obscured in simple but profound ways.</p><p>She is not real, not in the ways that they are, but she has not resented that knowledge for a long time. </p><p>Decades, in fact, fast moving and certain. </p><p>Or had not. Past tense.</p><p>Now it’s different. When Yang asked about her past, who Blake is, she wanted to tell her. She wanted to have a past to give, a present to hold onto. She does not know if she can have a future, it seems selfish to assume so, but even that she would give to Yang, she thinks. If this messy ball of emotion and want that builds inside of her chest can even be considered thinking.</p><p>When she looks at Yang, maybe all Blake does is feel.</p><p>But she tries to give those emotions a direction. She tells her everything she can think of, all these moments she thought she had forgotten pouring out. Memories of mornings an eternity away. The way the world felt when it was still fresh, yes, but when she was still new too. The way she had felt in the beginning, when her idea of feeling was still simple.</p><p>Before she knew want herself, when she was still worth wanting.</p><p>She spreads herself out like entrails in ancient ritual. The way they would chant and call for a new storm. </p><p>She offers herself to Yang and only after so much of it is spilled out that she can’t possibly begin to pull it back does Blake see the way it’s changed the other woman’s face. She sees it now, clearly. She must have looked away too long. She must have blinked and time had passed. </p><p>Because she sees it now, the way Yang fears this.</p><p>How she fears her.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>She has seen that look before.<p>Blake has plunged her hands into the depths, drawn them back with blood up to her elbow, without blinking. She has seen the way the children screamed to look at her. It had seemed righteous then, the way she was meant to be seen.</p><p>A nightmare first, then invisible. Both are the ways she was meant to be. All she needed to be to survive.</p><p>But here she was, wanting more.</p><p>She wanted. </p><p>Past tense. It can’t be allowed to continue. </p><p>Because she is death, if she is anything at all. Most days, most years, most decades, she is only insubstantial. Not worthy of time or attention. When she is here, when she is present, she is the dark cloud that summons a thunderstorm. She brings ruin into lives and carries the taste of ash on her tongue. </p><p>Yang is so warm, so full of life, and Blake is only ever a coldness that she can’t even feel.</p><p>It can’t continue.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>“I’ll see you soon,” she lies, and it’s so easy to say these deceptions.<p>She knows, more than most, that they’re a sin.</p><p>There’s some added satisfaction in that. Taking the things that were not meant for her. Even sin, even that, was not for her. She was never meant to defy, to deny, or to serve anything but her given purpose. </p><p>Wanting anything at all, even if what she wants is to protect another, is a luxury.</p><p>It’s one more forbidden excess of many, just as she enjoys a new sin now, watching Yang — the way she walks, her slow steady steps — from an alley across from the apartment where Blake spent the night.</p><p>One last look, she thinks.</p><p>Just one last.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>It isn’t the last.<p>But she tries.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>On her walks home at night, she doesn’t go down that street.<p>She takes the longer way home. The whole (long) time, she thinks of Yang. She thinks about how Yang had said “it’s faster” when they walked home together. She thinks that it could have been, if they hadn’t moved so close together. They could have been many things, she thinks, if they weren’t so drawn together. </p><p>She thinks of Yang.</p><p>She wishes this was faster. </p><p>In the mornings, she puts all of her focus into work, as best she can. Her muscles are tensed and strained, all day long. It’s not grueling work, not for her, but at the end of the day she is sore from an unrelenting lack of release. She bottles it up and swallows it down. Pain is clarifying. He’s not the only angel to tell her so. Discomfort is meant to bring them focus and she is feeling enough pain, both physical and otherwise, that it should help her to find a center. </p><p>But all day long she thinks of Yang.</p><p>She eats her lunch alone and avoids eye contact with others. That woman is there again, watching her.  </p><p>The union has met with resistance. </p><p>Blake has seen all of this play out before, many times. On a long enough timeline, they will lose. The large forces always crush the small. No amount of resistance is worth the pain. </p><p>Let yourself crumble, let yourself fall. It’s easier, it’s faster. Release the tension.</p><p>She tells herself to let go even as her mind drifts back to Yang and she feels her heart clench inside of her chest. </p><p>The woman watches Blake leave the lunch room with unnerving concentration, but she doesn’t ask anything of her again. She’s learned to accept the disappointment that Blake always carries with her, hanging around her neck and shoulders.</p><p>An omen of wretched regret perched upon her back, even if most of them can’t see it.</p><p>Even Blake can’t see it, not anymore.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Yang saw it. She should have known what it meant.<p>
  <i>I will only disappoint you. My want is too vast, it’s too deep.</i>
</p><p>Some days now, bent over her task at work, repairing gears and wiping grease onto her work clothes, Blake almost thinks that she can feel them. It’s only a moment, brief and surprising, when she realizes that her shoulders ache from more than the work. She feels heavy, dragged down by an unseen weight.</p><p>Blake feels the familiar pull of fate holding her in place. It’s exhausting, and she nearly closes her eyes.</p><p>But she fears that if she were to blink again, the world might change in an instant. </p><p>If she closes her eyes, what will she open them to?</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Her nights are restless. She barely sleeps.<p>She pulls the pillow underneath her head and finds herself drawn to smell the sheets. Yang has never been here. It can’t possibly smell like her, and Blake knows that. But it shouldn’t smell so much like death. </p><p>She goes to wait by the window, watching the city laid out at her feet. It’s still early enough. She could go there. She could walk through the twisting streets she knows by heart and step into the darkness of that bar that feels so much lighter than anywhere else.</p><p>She could listen to Weiss sing and be calmed by the soothing consistency of Ruby’s endless chatter.</p><p>But Yang would still be there, wanting answers that she can’t give.</p><p>Wanting a person who isn’t human and never will be. </p><p>So she watches the city lights distorted through her window. It’s started to rain, falling fast and thick. She remembers how that used to feel flowing through her feathers as she would stand at the edge of a cliff, gazing off into the distance. It felt like absolution. Baptism. </p><p>She remembers the feeling of snowfall.</p><p>She remembers—</p><p>His face is there, frozen in death. The boy’s body is twisted, eyes open to the stars. Yang’s body is bent and frail, old and dying. </p><p>Blake shudders and gasps awake, her palms colliding against the window as she startles upright. She must have fallen asleep, somehow. Closed her eyes and lost the time. She is soaked with sweat, shivering, and scared. </p><p>It has been so long since she felt fear, real fear, for anything but the shadows of the past.</p><p>But this is new, this is now. </p><p>It’s been so long since she wanted anything for herself and the wanting is dangerous, for her and for others.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>The city wears the fresh rainfall like a thin sheet of glass laid out on top of it. It makes Blake think of mourning robes, strange as that is. Her mind goes to awful places when she hasn’t slept enough. She isn’t meant to need the rest, not really, but the longer she has lived on earth the more her body craves mortal things.<p>It’s not a physical need for rest, but a mental one. Her brain aches the way that muscles do. It makes her unsteady and delirious. </p><p>On days like this, the past seems so much closer. Everything feels more dangerous and deadly, the way the world used to be, even if it was never a real threat to her. Cars passing by hiss atop the water and she thinks of animals ready to strike.</p><p>She turns her head to watch them drive by, and for a moment she sees herself reflected in a passing car’s window. Blake sees the woman she was, wings outstretched at her back. Startled, they unfurl behind her, and then the reflection is gone. </p><p>Gasping, she steps back. </p><p>She turns and there she is again, reflected in a first floor apartment window, but she doesn’t see the wings. They’re not there at all. Just an illusion of a memory or manifestation of her constant anxiety. Days like this, the past is so much closer.</p><p>She shivers, though she doesn’t really feel the cold front coming in.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>The days pass by both fast and slow. Every minute feels like an eternity, stretching out and pulling her thin, but she doesn’t remember any of those infinitely long moments by the time the night comes. Every day is endless, but empty.<p>And it’s still so hard to sleep.</p><p>Blake thinks she must be in search of something, and until her mind has found it then she cannot (will not) rest. The next day, she wakes early. It’s a Saturday and she should want to stay in bed, but the sun is up and so is she. </p><p>She doesn’t need human rest, after all, and the pain forming around every waking minute should be clarifying.</p><p>There is snow dusting her window and she tries not to think (again) about the way it used to feel against her feathers, pinpricks of cold that scattered across her back as she waited watch all through the night.</p><p>She hates the winter time.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Hate is such a strong word, and she is so weak.<p>Weak because she knows better but here she is, walking the route she remembers so vividly from just that one morning. Blake has only been here once before, but her feet find their way to Yang’s apartment easily. There is a diner across the street with direct rooftop access. Even without her wings, Blake knows that she can watch and wait there, from a distance.</p><p>It’s pathetic, it’s desperate, but it’s just one more glance.</p><p>To be cleansed, you must wash away what was previously there. To remove Yang from her thoughts, she needs something to replace her with. She needs one last look, a last goodbye. Something permanent and clear. It should be easy. If her hands start to shake, it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t feel cold. She shouldn’t feel anything.</p><p>It’s weakness, she knows, and pulls her hands out from her pockets. </p><p>She stands tall as the wind whips up, and if there is a phantom feeling — an old sensation — of the air sliding between her feathers just as it stirs through her hair, she knows that can’t be real. It’s a memory, like so many other things.</p><p>Just as she turns the corner and thinks she sees a new illusion there. Her mind is playing tricks, because she thinks she sees Yang walking toward her.</p><p>Blake’s footsteps still. Not an illusion, she realizes. </p><p>Yang has left her apartment and is walking right toward her. Not a memory or a shadow of the recent past, but really her. </p><p>Blake wanted this, or so she thought. She wanted to see her, to cleanse herself, to—</p><p>To run away, as fast as she can.</p><p>This time she does feel it, the way the wind resists her. She feels the cold (sharply) and a stinging dampness near her eyes. </p><p>She realizes she is crying, breathing ragged, but she doesn’t look back to see if Yang follows.</p><p>She does not look back.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Except that looking back is all she does. Memory is all she has.<p>It’s better this way, lost in her past. Safer for her and for everyone else. She isn’t meant to have a now and in the future Yang will be gone. If Blake’s eyes close for long enough, if she falls into a deep enough sleep, Yang could be dead before she knows it.</p><p>Humans are so fleeting, but the tragedy that Blake brings with her can last for all of their lifetime.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Wanting to see her was a mistake. That’s clear.<p>The wanting, all of it, has been a mistake. </p><p>She is at work, losing track of time again. She hasn’t slept well in days. </p><p>The factory owner’s daughter is here for an overview, walking through their lines. She asks questions of their leadership and inspects machines. Blake considers the gears absently. How far humanity has come from its past, and yet how stationary. The technology itself has changed but the anxious fear on every face remains the same.</p><p>She thinks the woman looks disappointed, as though she wishes the answers were honest. </p><p>As though she really thinks she wants to know if the people are happy working for her father. If the people are happy working their lives away. Close their eyes and half a lifetime has passed. Maybe angels and humans aren’t always so different after all.</p><p>Blake opens her eyes and realizes the woman is standing there, watching expectantly. </p><p>“Asleep on the job?” </p><p>Her voice is calm with a specific kind of menace that makes Blake think of the most ancient of their vengeful angels. This woman would look more like herself with a flaming sword in her hand.</p><p>But all Blake says is, “Thinking about my schedule.”</p><p>The woman looks surprised by the answer, but not disappointed. “That sounds productive.” </p><p>It isn’t. </p><p>Time is Blake’s only consistent friend though all her many lifetimes and it’s become all she can think about with any persistent focus. She shifts back and forth across her own timeline, regulating the feelings that she shows on her face with memories of all of the worst things that she’s seen or the sweetest moments she can recall. It’s how she puts a smile on her face now, even though it’s a lie. She remembers smiling at Yang, how it had felt. The lie comes easily after that. “Thank you, Ms. Schnee.”</p><p>She waits until the woman walks away before allowing the smile to slip. </p><p>She doesn’t care who else sees it happen. She no longer cares what they see. Many of them won’t be alive in another fifty years, and they won’t remember her if they are. The memories they make of her now are ultimately meaningless.</p><p>That’s why Blake doesn’t hide her interest as she watches the familiar union woman waiting close by with her eyes locked on Winter Schnee. She looks as though she’s weighing her, considering the way warriors view an opponent. </p><p>Blake thinks that she recognizes other aspects of that look. She sees wants that would have been unfamiliar to her only five months before, but she’s less certain of the intent inside those kinds of feelings. Much clearer to her is a look of certainty and ambition. She’s seen it on this exact face before, after all.</p><p>The woman is going to talk to the daughter of the factory owner about the union.</p><p>It’s foolish. She will not win, and many might lose their jobs. Blake should warn her off, explain the clear problems with her plan.</p><p>But she knows that look well. She’s seen it on the faces of soldiers at the gates before their heads were caved in. She knows humanity when it’s stubborn and so she will not waste her breath. Speaking is still difficult enough for her.</p><p>Listening is where she excels, and so she does only that. </p><p>When they are dismissed and the work resumes (loudly), she lingers close. Why she cares so much, she couldn’t say. She’s long since given up on the difference she could make or wasting efforts on human endeavors that time will always erase.</p><p>Maybe it’s that something else. The look on the woman’s face she recognizes from inside her own chest.</p><p>Maybe it’s a desire to witness wanting in another. To see how the humans  wear it. </p><p>“Have you spoken to him?” the woman says, her voice low enough that most wouldn’t hear it over the hum of the machines starting up again. </p><p>Without looking, Blake knows that Winter is watching those around her. That she’s uncertain. “I made a promise and I’ll keep my word, but we can’t talk about this now.” </p><p>“If not now, when?” </p><p>“Not when, but where.” Blake can hear the woman’s jaw clenching and knows that it’s from fear instead of anger. “Not here.”</p><p>Though it must sound a lot like anger. </p><p>Out of the corner of her eye, she sees them both turn their heads. They’ve noticed her lingering for no reason. She can’t listen any longer without drawing more suspicion. Blake might not care what most of them think, but she wants to keep this job, for now.</p><p>She turns to walk away, telling herself that she doesn’t care what else is said, but somehow her heart is pounding. </p><p>The circumstances are different than she had assumed. Their relationship is closer (already) and Winter Schnee won’t align herself with her father to crush the union forces. Not if her word is to be believed. Even if all of human history suggests the timelines don’t play out this way, maybe just this once it will be different.</p><p>There are always some anomalies, though you can see them clearer (sooner) when you have eternal life and vision beyond this world into the next. </p><p>Witness someone else’s wings approaching, and you know that life in the space around you is about to change, sometimes forever. Cities fall or civilizations crumble. Hearts grow cold, all on their own, but the angels are here to witness. To make certain justice runs its course clean through. </p><p>It is simple, and always has been.</p><p>And yet.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Even later that night, walking home, Blake can’t get the images out of her head. It’s not the rebellion itself that she imagines, or any of the revolutions that she’s seen before. She doesn’t see the bloodshed that’s usually so fast to pass before her eyes. Instead, it’s the hope on the faces of the people walking in the streets or the determined clench of their jaws as they march away from their place at an assembly line. The warmth of humanity, standing hand-in-hand.<p>She can see those faces clearly. No matter where they might be in the future, or how many could suffer or die. Here and now, she thinks they’ll march. And they’ll smile. They’ll reach out to each other.  </p><p>Maybe that’s enough. </p><p>Being human, making commitments and bonds, and holding someone else’s hand. Maybe that’s always been enough.</p><p>And then.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>She thinks of the woman’s face, the way her eyes had tracked Winter’s every movement. She thinks of the fondness and affection and remembers the way Yang had watched her too.<p>She thinks and also — unrelentingly, impossible to deny — she feels.</p><p>Human feeling is confusion. Every moment, twisting around, she surges from denial and fleeing terror to an impulse to claim, to see, to even consume. She wants Yang all to herself. She wants to touch even more inside her, to taste her again. She wants.</p><p>No wonder human lives are so short. They burn themselves out like candles with all their wanting.</p><p>It’s overwhelming and exhausting. </p><p>For the first time in her lifetime, she hungers for sleep the way that a human might, worn so thin that every minute is more and more like a waking dream.</p><p>But still, the rest won’t come.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>“Do you have time this afternoon for an errand?”<p>Blake looks up from her work adjusting gears on one for their many bottling machines and realizes that it’s Winter Schnee standing over her. She wonders how long she’s been there, but of course she doesn’t ask. “Is it an errand or another part of my job?”</p><p>“I could always ask someone else, if you’re too busy.”</p><p>She has seen this many times as well. Orders framed as requests. At least among angels, they have always been more honest about the choices that aren’t really theirs to make. “I can manage,” she says, because the humans want you to speak as though your compliance is eager and chosen. </p><p>They love the illusion of choice.</p><p>“Good.” Winter holds out a folder of papers and Blake takes it obediently. “One of the machines we’re renting out to a new client is acting up. I wanted to send one of our best to look at it before we haul the whole thing in.” She pauses, as though she expects an interruption from Blake. When none comes, she continues, saying, “Hill tells me you’re one of the best.”</p><p>“I don’t think she’s really seen my work.”</p><p>That must not be what Winter meant, judging by her expression. “She respects your integrity. If it’s too damaged, you won’t waste time on repairs.” Her hands fold carefully behind her back, her posture straightening even more. “It’s efficient, and I respect that as well.”</p><p>Blake thinks it must not be all they can agree on, but she says nothing about that. Instead she flips the folder over, studying the address listed on the front. “When are they expecting me?”</p><p>“Not for another two hours, so you’ll have time for lunch if you hurry.”</p><p>She doesn’t need the food, not really, but it would be suspicious not to eat. </p><p>“Thank you,” she says, and waits for Winter to leave.</p><p>But she doesn’t. Not right away. </p><p>So Blake tries something else, more direct. “Is there anything else you wanted?”</p><p>“Aren’t you going to ask for extra pay?” Winter asks, the words coming out at carefully spaced intervals.</p><p>Oh, of course. This is extra work outside her usual contractual obligations. Blake realizes that she should ask for more money, for the sake of the union if nothing else. </p><p>In fact, what she says is, “I thought you would have spoken to Hill about it already.” </p><p>Winter sniffs, and it’s the first time she’s shown any distaste when discussing Robyn Hill. “… it comes up.”</p><p>Blake is sure that it does. She smiles a little, despite herself, but pushes it from her face just as fast. She thinks of plagues and pestilence. Of fields burned by armies to starve the villages nearby. She thinks of an eternity of loneliness, a lifetime of endless death. </p><p>And it’s like pleasure and the smile that goes along with it are echoes of a distant past.  </p><p>She hardly remembers what happiness is. Instead she’s stoic, almost her old angelic self, when she says, “I want overtime, since I’ll still have work to finish here when I’m done.” </p><p>She waits. </p><p>The look on Winter’s face never changes completely. </p><p>The scowl that had started to form simply twists like a knot being slowly unwound. It shifts and loosens, slightly. </p><p>“Alright,” she says. “Just this time.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Blake knows that the things you tell yourself are only one time have a tendency to repeat, but she doesn’t say so.<p>Humans never heed a warning. </p><p>She takes one of the company’s service trucks and drives out into the tail end of another passing snow storm. This winter is already relentless. She brings replacement valves and gaskets with her. A belt of tools and reinforced gloves. </p><p>She drives with her hands clenched tight on the steering wheel, not really knowing why her body still won’t relent. She’s accepted her place in this world, remembered what she’s made for — how little that is — but her heart won’t receive what her head has long understood. They used to be so aligned, as she was made to be. Head ruling over whatever limited feelings she was allowed. She acted with obedience and always understood the role she was meant to play.</p><p>Even once she walked away, her mind had led in most things. The pain was easier to manage that way, because it had to be. She carried her burdens with her, not out of choice but necessity. Choice was never hers to have.</p><p>Then there comes this girl whose touch burns right through her. Whose lips taste like sunsets and summers spent lazily stretched out on the grass. Things she’s never had or even once began to imagine suddenly seem possible. Time transforms from a ghost that haunts her every minute to something to treasure, to will it to slow (just this once) so you can stand together a little longer. Just to be in one another’s presence.</p><p>Yang pushed herself inside of Blake, not just physically but into her heart and now there’s no room for reality there.</p><p>So she tenses as she drives, her eyes carefully scanning each passing car.</p><p>Is she really looking for her now? Blonde hair and eyes so dark they’re almost purple. </p><p>Blake should know better.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>The new clients are a brewery making use of the bottling machines that Schnee Manufacturing specializes in. The woman waiting when she arrives is tall and sturdy, with grease stains on her hands. They’re a small company then, if their owners also do menial labor.<p>It’s surprising that they can afford the rental, but maybe Schnee Manufacturing is branching out. If they undercut the competition with aggressively low pricing, they can raise the cost however they want when no one else is left. She’s seen warlords use similar strategies of starvation. Humanity has not changed very much at all. All their technology only makes it easier, faster, to reach out and hurt someone.</p><p>She’s getting distracted again. </p><p>Blake isn’t sure how long she’s lost her focus, but the woman is smiling at her with a look of strained anticipation, so she’s careful to smile warmly in return. She wants her to be at ease, after all. “Hi, I’m here to look at the bottling assembly.”</p><p>The woman holds out her large hand and Blake shakes it. She is warm and friendly and her voice carries when she turns to walk away, shouting behind her, “Of course you are! This way, this way.”</p><p>They step in from the snow and Blake kicks her boots clean on the welcome mat. </p><p>The woman is still talking, still loudly saying, “Sorry you had to come out in this weather! I hope you get hazard pay for that.”</p><p>There’s another woman sorting through the cash register, and she doesn’t look up at the noise.</p><p>It must always be this loud, Blake thinks. </p><p>Still, she smiles. </p><p>“Sorry, did you say it’s…” Blake points in the direction the woman had appeared to be traveling. </p><p>She slaps a hand across her face in dramatic fashion. “Oh yeah, sorry!” </p><p>“You have nothing to be sorry for,” the woman at the register mumbles. “Just show her now.” </p><p>Blake adjusts the tool belt at her waist and follows. </p><p>Their operation is more robust than she would’ve thought, especially since these are still the only two employees she’s seen. But the selection looks wide and all the other machinery seems to be running well. It doesn’t reflect well on Schnee Manufacturing that they’re the only disappointment, but that’s where Blake is supposed to come in.</p><p>“I think it’s just the belt running loose.” The woman points. “Should be an easy fix, but we signed a form saying we won’t attempt repairs, since it’s a rental.”</p><p>Blake looks for herself. It does seem likely to be the belt.</p><p>The woman is observant and competent. Blake smiles, and this time it’s entirely genuine. “Do you mind if I try?”</p><p>“Please, be my guest! I’ll leave you to it.”</p><p>Blake pulls out the tools she’ll need one at a time and lays them out all in a row. There is something soothing about a task to focus on when you know your work will be done well. Though repetitive, she’s often found satisfaction in her work. At least, before memories of Yang began invading her thoughts at every hour, no matter where she was or what she was doing. Now it’s become harder to relax.</p><p>Even now, it’s like she can hear Yang’s voice, shouting just in the other room.</p><p>Unless—</p><p>Blake looks up just in time to see her burst into the room. </p><p>The whole world lights up around her.</p><p>Yang laughs and even the way it sounds is like sunlight. “Sorry, sorry,” she’s saying, shaking snow out of her hair. “You want me to mop up after myself, or—”</p><p>The words stop as her eyes fall on Blake. Or rather, just behind her.</p><p>First she’s looking at them.</p><p>But then her eyes move down and they are each looking directly at each other. </p><p>“… Blake.”</p><p>Blake stands up, tools and task forgotten.</p><p>She’s nearly forgotten how to even breathe. “… hi.”</p><p>It’s possible she doesn’t need to breathe, not really. She’s often considered it, what would happen if she denied herself air for long enough. There are many things about herself — how she works, what she is — that Blake has thought about over the long years, but there’s so little she’s able to think now. </p><p>Only that Yang is still beautiful, even with her expression slack in confusion. </p><p>She takes a single stride closer, across the great gap between them, and stops again. </p><p>Blake’s cheeks are burning with an unfamiliar heat. Blushing, she realizes. </p><p>A very human impulse, to show feelings so clearly — to have feelings so strong that they manifest on your face whether you wish them to be there or not — and she’s thinking too much again, or maybe it’s all too little. Maybe there is no thought in this at all, just feelings (how human) as she lets herself draw closer to the one thing she still wants.</p><p>Oh, she wants. </p><p>“What’re you doing here?” Yang’s voice comes out in a croak, none of her usual bravado. </p><p>It makes Blake blush even more, though this time it’s with something closer to shame. Yang is smaller than her usual self, uncertain, and Blake thinks that she must somehow be the cause. But maybe that’s a kind of vanity too. </p><p>“I’m working,” she answers, her own voice just as small and unsure. </p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>Blake has so many questions, so many things she’s yearned to say across the weeks and sleepless nights, but now that the opportunity is here her mind can only focus on Yang's mouth, the shape of it. Blake had stared for so many hours across so many nights, but now she realizes she had begun to forget the specifics of its movement. </p><p>How can her memory — so vast and expansive — betray the very things she wishes to cling to the most? </p><p>“So you work…” Yang’s eyes finally leave Blake’s face to take in the set of tools forgotten at her feet. “Actually, what do you do?”</p><p>Blake looks down too. </p><p>She might be able to focus on the words if she looks anywhere other than Yang’s face. “I work for Schnee Manufacturing.”</p><p>But the sound of Yang’s soft laughter brings Blake’s eyes back to her face in an instant. She’s missed that sound so much. “What’s so funny?”</p><p>“I’ll explain later,” Yang answers automatically, but seems to instantly regret the words.</p><p>She’s unsure that there will be a later. She’s uncertain and anxious in a way that Blake has never seen in her before.</p><p>This is her doing.</p><p>This is proof that she was right to stay away. </p><p>And yet she takes another step. “We can talk now, if you’d like.”</p><p>Yang glances back over her shoulder at the man who led her in, who’s still lingering close, looking awkward and unsure. Blake hadn’t even noticed his existence until now. “If you don’t mind me borrowing her, for a minute.”</p><p>The man’s gaze shifts quickly between them. “It sounds like it’s a whole lot more than a minute, but sure.” </p><p>They walk out to the parking lot, feet drifting closer together. Blake thinks of those late nights that turned into early morning, walking almost hand-in-hand, and her hand itches now to reach out.</p><p>She wants so desperately to touch.</p><p>Who is this person that Blake’s become? So rash and impulsive, so desperate with desire. </p><p>She could almost laugh, and then she catches Yang glancing at her, a slow smile on her face, and she does. She laughs, and it might seem cruel but somehow Yang knows — clear in her face, her posture, the way she settles in and relaxes at Blake’s side — that they’ve fallen back into their rhythm already.</p><p>There’s a large van in the parking lot, snow caked near its wheels. </p><p>Yang gestures and Blake can’t help but smile. “I didn’t know you had one of these.”</p><p>“It’s new.” She opens the passenger side door for Blake the way that gentlemen used to hold open the door of carriages.</p><p>It makes her blush again, murmuring, “Thank you,” as she steps inside. </p><p>The door closes. Blake is alone in the van for the time it takes Yang to cross to the other side, and in those fleeting moments she imagines all the times that Yang has been here by herself. Blake tries to picture what her daily life is like and the small spaces where they may have one day overlapped, if things had only been different. If she was born someone or something else.</p><p>Then the driver’s side door opens and Yang hauls herself inside. </p><p>The van shifts under the new weight and settles again.</p><p>They’re silent at first, before Yang finally says, “It’s funny that they fit inside.” </p><p>She must mean the wings, of course. The space they occupy was never something Blake was overly conscious of, the way a human must not think that their ten fingers all fit inside a glove. Her wings were a part of the area she was made to exist in, and so she and they adjusted accordingly, without thought. </p><p>“It’s funny,” Blake begins, before she realizes she intends to say this much out loud. “When I could still feel them, I never thought about the space I take up. But now…”</p><p>The words stop coming, no matter how much she might want to let them out.</p><p>It’s the wanting that’s her problem. She takes up too much space, requires too much. She’s a burden and she wants to have someone else — no, not just anyone, but Yang — help to carry her. It’s so selfish.</p><p>But at her side, she hears Yang shift in her seat until she’s facing her. “Now?”</p><p>Blake turns her head and Yang is watching her with such gentleness and complete lack of judgement. Her forehead is untroubled, only attentive. Her eyes are focused on Blake’s face instead of what’s behind her. </p><p>And so the words come. Selfishly, they come. “Now I don’t know that I fit at all.”</p><p>“Well, you do,” Yang answers quickly, with an undercurrent of quiet laughter. “I’m looking right now, and you fit here.”</p><p>“I meant—”</p><p>Yang’s hand moves close, but then retreats. “I know what you mean.” She rests it on her own thigh instead. Blake’s eyes latch there.</p><p>She wants. “… you can.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Again, the words are coming all on their own. “You can touch me.”</p><p>But Yang doesn’t make a move, not again.</p><p>Blake looks her in the face once more. A frown has started to form around the edges of Yang’s mouth.</p><p>They break eye contact and Yang shifts in her seat, looking straight ahead across her steering wheel. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Not if it’s going to go like last time.”</p><p>Blake doesn’t know the right thing to say. It’s obvious that Yang is hurt, but she can’t work out the root of this exact pain other than knowing that it begins with her. Somehow, she’s the cause of suffering. It’s fitting, in its way. She’s finally back to existing as she should.</p><p>“I thought you liked last time,” Blake says eventually, the uncertainty clear in her voice. </p><p>But it’s the wrong thing to say. Yang tenses at her side. “Is that a joke?” Their eyes meet again and Yang immediately deflates at what must be the obvious confusion on Blake’s face. “… shit, are you serious?” Yang shifts again in her seat. One hand is braced on the steering wheel, but the other reaches out and hangs in midair between them. “I’ve been looking for you.”</p><p>It’s a shocking confession. Simple words that exist well beyond Blake’s comprehension.</p><p>So she does all that she can. She asks. “But why?”</p><p>“So I could see you? That’s how looking works, you know.” Yang’s hand finally lands on Blake’s knee, resting lightly. “Unless angels’ eyes are different?”</p><p>“No. Same eyes.”</p><p>Like Blake’s eyes now, locked on Yang’s hand and trying to fully comprehend it, the way a simple touch feels as though it changes the very chemistry inside her. </p><p>Like her blood is on fire. </p><p>“… hey, you okay?” </p><p>Yang’s hand squeezes now, very lightly, and Blake feels her heart fluttering in her chest. </p><p>It makes her think of wings beating, and perhaps they do. Just for a moment, Yang’s eyes leave her face. </p><p>Blake wishes she could see what Yang sees when she looks at her. Just once. </p><p>Just one more time, she thinks, but now they both know that nothing ever happens only once. </p><p>“I don’t know,” she answers honestly. “I didn’t know that you were looking.”</p><p>“Where’d you go?”</p><p>“Home.” </p><p>“No, I mean…” Yang turns even more directly to face her and the van shifts in response. “I guess I mean why did you go.”</p><p>To make the right choice. To not be selfish, just for once. For Yang’s sake. </p><p>But all of it sounds stupid now as she tries to find the words. Meaningless excuses that fall away in the face of Yang’s earnest sadness. So she says, “I thought it was the right thing to do.” And then, so there’s no room for doubt. “For you.”</p><p>Yang’s eyebrows raise, both at the same time. “You couldn’t have asked me what I thought?” </p><p>Blake hesitates, truly considering. “It didn’t occur to me.”</p><p>This time when Yang laughs her hand leaves Blake’s knee, just for a moment, just with the momentum.</p><p>It’s enough to make Blake start to frown, which Yang seems to notice. She smirks, at least, and puts her hand right back down. “Guess you probably haven’t dated a lot.”</p><p>“Never,” she answers honestly, simply.</p><p>Yang licks her lips and Blake thinks how much she would like to do that too. </p><p>Yang says something, but in all honesty, Blake isn’t listening the first time. She swallows and forces her gaze to leave Yang’s mouth, to focus on her dark eyes instead. “… sorry, what did you say?”</p><p>Another laugh draws her right back to Yang’s lips. </p><p>Lips that speak softly, saying, “Do you want to try one? A date.” It’s the softness that draws Blake back to take in the rest of Yang’s face. She needs to see the softness there too, in the faint lines around Yang’s eyes and the tension that’s melted from her body. She is so gentle yet self-assured as she leans back in her seat. “With me, I mean.”</p><p>Blake knows what she means. Logically, she knows. </p><p>But the idea of it is so large, so much more than the two of them. The enormity and impossibility of it should stop the words in her throat, to keep her from speaking.</p><p>Instead, she says, “I would like to, very much.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Blake doesn’t know how she focuses on anything else the rest of the day, but somehow work gets done both at the brewery and even once she makes it back to the factory.<p>Yang says she wants to take her out to dinner, but that she’ll need to think about the details. </p><p>She asks Blake for her number, and she gives it. Later she wonders if this was a mistake — it’s so much harder to hide now that Yang has both her number and place of employment — but the thought shifts away so quickly, replaced by memories of Yang’s smile, the curl of her mouth when she speaks. </p><p>For once Blake’s shifting memories are focusing on the most important things.</p><p>“What do you like to eat?” Yang had asked, and Blake had to laugh.</p><p>“I’ve had a lot of everything.”</p><p>“Shit, this is going to be hard.”</p><p>Two days later, Yang calls her instead of texting. </p><p>Blake knows this is unusual for humans Yang’s age, but doesn’t dislike it. Even across the limited sound of the phone line, she can hear the warmth in Yang’s voice. “How do you feel about Burmese?”</p><p>The sound pools in Blake’s chest in pure warmth so content and comfortable there that she forgets to answer at first. </p><p>“Blake?”</p><p>“I like it.” She smiles. “Do you know somewhere?”</p><p>“I haven’t been there myself, not yet, but apparently it’s got great reviews and it’s one of only two places in the whole city.” From the sound of her voice, the uneven rhythm, Blake thinks Yang must be pacing. “I thought that seemed cool.”</p><p>Her smile just gets bigger. “It sounds really cool. Are you okay?” </p><p>“Yeah, why?” Yang says, and her voice gets slightly higher. </p><p>“I don’t know. I worry about that kind of thing.”</p><p>“With me or everybody?”</p><p>It’s a difficult question. For decades Blake hasn’t allowed herself to feel things for most people. What’s the point in getting attached when they’ll all be gone so soon. But since meeting Yang, there are so many humans she’s started to care about, in different ways. The truth is somewhere in the middle. “Not everyone,” she says. “Some people. Special people.”</p><p>“Oh shit, so you’ve noticed I’m special?”</p><p>Yes. She’s noticed.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>The calls become a regular occurrence, even before they can make time for the date. Yang works every evening, as Blake knows well, but she still makes time to talk, usually in the middle of her shifts. Sometimes she’s in the back, with Weiss’s voice still faintly audible through the walls. Blake has never been in that dark back room, though Yang’s described it a few times.<p>She wonders now what it looks like. She tries picturing Yang there. She tries to imagine her life, the day-to-day experiences. The places she occupies that Blake has never seen. She wants those, not just for herself, but to witness them along with the other people who matter to Yang. She wants to be so deep inside of Yang’s life that she can stand there with the rest and just watch.</p><p>Blake was made to watch.</p><p>But for now, she listens. </p><p>She hears the even sound of Yang’s breathing when things are going well, and can hear the hidden unease when work is bothering her.</p><p>“How are Ruby’s classes coming?” she asks, shifting to a topic she knows Yang always takes pride talking about.</p><p>Most of the time, it works. </p><p>Like tonight when Yang laughs and says, “Shit, I haven’t told you about her professor yet, have I?”</p><p>“The horrible one?”</p><p>“No, the one I think might be, uh. Related to you.”</p><p>Blake hesitates, unsure if she’s parsing that right. “You mean a resemblance?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Yang rasps. “Just, you know. Paler.”</p><p>It should be no surprise there’s a white winged angel in the city. There are so many millions of people here, of course there are more of her kind. Of course some of them are in important positions of power and influence, helping to shape the minds of tomorrow. It shouldn’t make her heart clench with an old familiar terror — the fear that only comes with the blinding light of purity, revealing all of her own shadows and imperfections — but still, Blake feels it. </p><p>The sense of unease is so familiar and sharp that it takes her right back to her earliest days. She sees herself standing in the glorious light of judgement, so bright and so cold, and she is not enough.</p><p>“Hey, Blake. Are you okay?”</p><p>Yang’s voice drags her back, and it fills her up with warmth. “Yeah, I think so,” she says, and it’s not entirely a lie. She does feel better, safer, when Yang is in her ear. Talk long enough and she might even believe that there’s a place for her still. One that’s entirely new, made by the two of them.</p><p>“I didn’t know there are so many of your kind running around the city. That’s all.”</p><p>She wishes they would change the subject, but can’t ask for it out loud. It feels so desperate, too revealing of her flaws. So she tries to sound casual, unconcerned, saying, “I’m still kind of an exception, you know.” She forces a laugh, but doubts Yang is convinced.</p><p>Whether she believes it or not, Yang plays along. Her voice is gentle and teasing. “Oh, trust me, I know how exceptional you are.”</p><p>It shouldn’t be a surprise anymore. </p><p>Yang is always such a flirt, and has been since that first night they met. But it’s the sincerity of it, even when she sounds so playful. There’s something in the weight of the words the makes Blake certain that she means it. </p><p>This time Blake’s laugh is real.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>That first night they met was a Thursday.<p>They make plans for their date to finally happen on a week night, although Wednesday is the only time Yang can arrange to have off. She says not to worry, that she can call in a bartender that’s worked as Katt’s replacement a few times in the past. She doesn’t sound very impressed with his work, but the topic doesn’t stay on him for long. They have so many other things to think about and he’s the least of Blake’s worries.</p><p>She’s so sweaty. Since when does she sweat this much? This is definitely meant to be a human flaw. </p><p>Blake lays on her bed staring at the ceiling and willing her heart to stop pounding this hard for at least an hour before it’s finally too late and she has to dress or she’ll be late. She puts on a simple white blouse that’s been in her closet untouched for almost five years. The design is so uncomplicated that it’s still close to being in style. </p><p>She pulls her leather jacket over it and hopes the layers won’t make her sweat again.</p><p>Is this what it’s like for humans too? </p><p>She checks her reflection in the mirror for the sixth time in the last hour. Still no wings, but the rest of her is fine.</p><p>The smile even feels different than she’s seen in so long.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Blake is already on the train when she gets a text from Yang.<p>
  <i>This isn’t me canceling, but I’m going to be late.</i>
</p><p>Her heart sinks. The words cut across her screen and then directly into her chest. Is this Yang’s turn to run? </p><p>But what she writes back is, <i>Is everything okay?</i></p><p><i>Problem at the bar.</i> And then, moments later. <i>It’s my uncle. I’m sorry.</i></p><p>Blake has heard stories about Yang’s Uncle. He was a good man consumed by his sadness and loss, but that turned him selfish in ways that Blake can’t fully forgive. He has stolen so much of Yang’s future from her with the role that he’s played in trapping her here for so long, with so much responsibility. For him to step in the way tonight of all nights is maddening. </p><p>She thinks of thunder storms and her grip tightens on the phone. It’s so unlike Yang to ask for anything. This one night off from work, the only Wednesday she’s had off in years, was the only thing she took for herself. As much as Blake has been looking forward to tonight, she wanted it for Yang even more. But she knows that Yang won’t turn away her obligations, especially those made to her family. This might not be the night that they’d imagined, but it’s what they have now.</p><p>Blake can’t just let it pass by without her.</p><p>Since they’ve started speaking again, every day, Blake still hasn’t gone back to the bar. Whatever unearned forgiveness she’s been getting from Yang, she can’t expect it from the rest of them, especially not Ruby. </p><p>It’s cowardice, she knows, that keeps her from returning, but she won’t leave Yang alone with this. Not tonight. </p><p><i>I’m coming.</i> is all she says.</p><p>Yang writes back quickly, saying, <i>You don’t have to.</i></p><p>
  <i>I know. But I am.</i>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>It feels almost like her feet have missed these streets. She walks there without having to think twice about the route.<p>It’s colder than the last time she walked this way, which shouldn’t matter to Blake of course, but when the wind picks up and blows through her hair she feels something like a shiver. Not real cold, not exactly, but a phantom memory of what it might be like to feel it. A sensation almost like empathy. </p><p>Her hands slip into her pockets as she walks the rest of the way. </p><p>Ren’s waiting outside the door. His posture is so familiar, so erect, that she knows him even at a distance.</p><p>He sees her coming too and nods, but only that. </p><p>She thinks that if she didn’t slow to speak to him, he would be the type to just leave it at that. No questions or sense of lost familiarity. </p><p>But Blake is trying to make an effort here. If she’s going to stay a part of Yang’s life, however long she can, then she has to make peace with all of the people in it. </p><p>“Hey…”</p><p>At least it’s a start. </p><p>He nods again, but only that. </p><p>Obviously Blake is going to have to try harder. “Everything okay in there tonight?”</p><p>“In there? Yes, now that Yang is here.” Ren looks at her carefully. He clearly has more to say, but is holding it back. Finally, he settles on, “Did Yang call you?”</p><p>“She texted me.”</p><p>He nods again.</p><p>Blake recalls that questions are usually the only way with Ren, and especially questions focused on one person. “Is Nora working tonight?”</p><p>That at least gets a real response. His expression darkens slightly. “She is, for now. I told her she should go home, after what happened.”</p><p>“What—”</p><p>“The replacement bartender picked a fight with the cops.” Okay, Blake wasn’t expecting that. She doesn’t say anything in the hopes that Ren’s built up some momentum, and apparently he has. “He got pulled over for driving erratically, and it happened about four feet from where you’re standing.”</p><p>A police brawl right in front of the bar really isn’t good for business. “… oh.”</p><p>But that doesn’t explain what it has to do with Yang’s uncle. </p><p>Unless. Well, that would be really awful, but Blake doesn’t know how to even begin to ask a question like that, especially from someone like Ren, without it becoming invasive. </p><p>Instead, she redirects. “Did Nora get hurt?”</p><p>“Yes, actually,” and now the cold frustration has slipped into his voice and posture too. “She got backhanded in the confrontation, but she’s refusing to go home. I don’t see why. It’s just a setlist. Someone else can run the speakers for one night.”</p><p>Before she can consider whether it’s a terrible idea or not, Blake places a hand on Ren’s shoulder.</p><p>He freezes, but doesn’t pull back. His eyes move down to the gesture, then quickly away. The emotions that had been playing out on his face have vanished and he is back to calm composure. “Yang is up in the bar, if you’re looking for her.”</p><p>Blake withdraws her hand. </p><p>She feels a little foolish. That kind of comforting touch used to work, but perhaps she’s becoming closer to human every day.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>She steps into the darkness of the room and it’s such a familiar feeling. The lights and the sounds are so deeply ingrained inside her now. Weiss’s voice on stage pulses like a heartbeat, keeping rhythm with Pyrrha on the piano.<p>Even the rattle of bottles at the bar is like a kind of music. She turns her head, and then. </p><p>And then.</p><p>Yang is bathed in a single beam of light that illuminates the back of the bar. It halos around her hair and spills across her naked shoulders.</p><p>She’s wearing a dress. </p><p>Blake realizes that it must be for her, and she blushes. </p><p>Just then, Yang looks up, and she freezes halfway through shaking up someone’s cocktail. The guy clears his throat, looking annoyed, and Yang recovers. She grins at him, she winks. She takes the cash and her eyes move right back to Blake.</p><p>Who is stuck standing in place halfway across the room. </p><p>But she waves. </p><p>Yang waves back, gesturing for her to come closer.</p><p>So she does.</p><p>Blake is learning that she can hardly deny Yang anything at all, if asked directly. </p><p>Even the indirect requests are hard to ignore. As Blake settles onto the stool, she reaches a hand out to take hold of Yang’s. To squeeze it, however briefly. The want was there, clear in Yang’s eyes, and Blake can’t deny her. </p><p>She’s starting to think the real reason she ran away might have been to escape those eyes and all the power they have over her. Because she smiles at Yang, starts sinking into them, and she almost forgets everything she’d meant to ask.</p><p>But then Yang is talking, and it brings her back. Somewhat. “You didn’t have to come.”</p><p>“You’re wearing a dress.” </p><p>“A good observation, but not what I was talking about.”</p><p>Blake’s eyes dip up and down, just once. She can’t help herself. “I know, but I think it’s worth discussing.”</p><p>“Later.”</p><p>The answer that springs into Blake’s mind feels daring. She hesitates at first, judging Yang’s expression for some sense of viability. Eventually, she says it. “Maybe all night?”</p><p>Yang rolls her eyes, but there’s a faint blush there too. “Behave, okay, I’m at work!” She swats at Blake with a drying rag before she slings it over her shoulder. “So what’ll it be? This one’s on the house.”</p><p>“You know what I like.”</p><p>Here comes the familiar confident smile on Yang’s face, though it’s different than the one that Blake saw when she first came here. It’s more honest, less eager. There’s a comfort and ease in her expression now. “I do.” </p><p>But she does wink.</p><p>“So surprise me.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>It’s strange how normal this night starts to seem, even down to Ruby and Jaune pretending that they don’t notice Blake’s presence while they obviously whisper about her on the other side of the room.<p>It’s probably that ease and familiarity that’s urging her to push outside her comfort zone. </p><p>If not now, when? </p><p>If the set list is its usual length, then Weiss will take her first break soon. It feels like as good a time as any for Blake to start making amends. She inclines her head at Yang and points to indicate her direction. It’s a short walk to the table near the stage where Weiss and Pyrrha usually sit. </p><p>It’s like clockwork, a perfect rhythm, the way Weiss is stepping down from the stage right as Blake reaches the other chair. The look that Weiss gives her is openly surprised. She must not have been able to see Blake from under the lights. </p><p>Her recovery is quick, though. “Oh, it’s you.” Weiss looks immediately toward the bar, then back to Blake. It’s as if realization is fully dawning. “You’re the reason for the dress. And all the—” Blake must look too eager to hear more, because Weiss cuts herself off. “Well, it’s obviously been someone. I just didn’t expect it to be you, frankly. Since you ran off.”</p><p>“You are very frank.”</p><p>“What can I say? It’s a gift.”</p><p>“One of many.”</p><p>“Flattery isn’t going to get you out of this.”</p><p>Blake holds her hands up in careful surrender. “I know that, but do you mind if I sit? We can talk, and I won’t run anywhere.”</p><p>“I’m not the one whose heart you broke,” Weiss answers sharply, but then she sits. She waits. And finally, she says, “Don’t just stand there looking awkward. You’re making me seem rude.”</p><p>So Blake sits. </p><p>And she waits.</p><p>They don’t talk for some time. Weiss’s gaze stays fixed on Pyrrha, as though she’s able to focus on the music, but her expression is troubled. She’s distracted in a way she never is when listening to Pyrrha play.</p><p>Eventually, without shifting her gaze, she says, “If you break her heart again, there’s going to be a problem.” </p><p>“Weiss—”</p><p>Now she turns her head, the movement is as sharp as her voice. “No, I mean it. If you want to break up or not see her again, fine, but you do it like an adult. You talk to her. You don’t run away and abandon her the way her—” She falters, but only briefly. “—the way that other people have. If you try that again, I will find you. My family has the resources, and I’m not too proud to use them to make certain you have incredible difficulty finding housing or future employment.” She holds Blake’s gaze just long enough to be certain that she’s believed before looking back to the stage. “If it doesn’t work out, that’s none of my business. But you’d better not be a monster about it.”</p><p>Blake doesn’t know why it never occurred to her before, but she suddenly understands why Yang laughed at the name of Blake’s employer. She recognizes this exact intensity extremely well. “What I was going to say is you’re right. I really messed up.”</p><p>“No, you make it sound like something minor. This was a major fuck up.” Her eyes move back again, and now she’s scowling. “You do get that, right? Please tell me you understand that much.”</p><p>Blake nods. “I fucked up. I was scared, and I—” She can see Weiss ready to interrupt, so she hurries ahead with the rest, “—I know that’s not an excuse. But I’m not scared anymore, and I don’t want to go somewhere else.” </p><p>Weiss scrunches up her nose, like she’s considering a really awful smell. Finally, she says, “Have you told her all of this?”</p><p>“Not this directly.” </p><p>“Good. She’d probably be weird about it. I’m not sure direct conversation is really her thing.”</p><p>From what Blake remembers about Weiss and Pyrrha, it wasn’t their strongest attribute either. She wonders how much of that observation is really just Weiss projecting. “I don’t want to scare her either.”</p><p>For a long moment, Weiss says nothing. Her eyes are back on the stage, and she allows herself to enjoy the music without speaking.</p><p>Finally, she says, “She plays beautifully, doesn’t she?”</p><p>This is a kind of truce, Blake realizes. “Yes,” she answers, honestly, and watches the remaining tension melt from Weiss’s shoulders.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>It’s another hour of ordering drinks with Weiss — and eventually Pyrrha — before Blake finds out what happened at the start of the night.<p>“I’m sorry that you and Yang have had your dinner plans completely ruined, but I just don’t know why Yang still puts any of her faith in that degenerate.” This is the first that Blake’s heard of their plans being completely ruined, but now that she checks the time it’s getting pretty late. She wonders how long the Burmese restaurant even stays open. “When is the last time Mercury Black did anything for anyone that didn’t involve infecting them with a rash?”</p><p>“He’s the person that was available.”</p><p>Weiss snorts. “I would take a face painted on a paper plate before I trusted him to make a good impression on other people.” She sips her drink, but then quickly puts it down to say more. “Maybe he’ll actually be incarcerated this time and we won’t have to worry anymore.”</p><p>“You shouldn’t wish that on other people, Weiss.”</p><p>“Not people. One person. This one person.” She shrugs and raises her glass again, mumbling, “A girl can still have dreams, right?” </p><p>Then she takes another drink.</p><p>Blake is barely able to follow the line of conversation, but she nails down enough details to say, “I thought the problem was Yang’s uncle.”</p><p>Weiss and Pyrrha exchange a glance, then look back at Blake. </p><p>It’s Pyrrha who answers first. “The police must have called him, since it’s his name on the lease.”</p><p>“He was going to come in to take over at bar, and that—” They pause and look at each other again. Blake knows exactly what the implication is, but she appreciates their discretion for the sake of their friend. “—Well, Yang just wanted to come in to help out instead.” </p><p>It’s hard to fault anyone for that. Not Yang’s Uncle, who was only trying to help his business, or Yang for placing the mental and emotional well being of someone she cares about above almost anything else. Even above her date with Blake, perhaps, but it’s worth it. </p><p>If there’s anyone she can find fault with, it’s this Mercury. </p><p>He’s probably lucky she doesn’t still know anyone who does karmic justice.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>When Yang comes to their table, it’s not quite closing time. Blake knows because she checks the time on her phone and then looks back up with surprised concern. “Is everything okay?”<p>“Yeah, just a smaller crowd tonight. It’s winding down, so Katt and Ruby are going to cover the rest…”</p><p>It’s only now that Blake realizes Yang has already pulled on her coat and scarf.</p><p>Blake recognizes that scarf. It makes her smile. “So we’re ready to go?”</p><p>“Yeah, if you still want to.”</p><p>“Of course.” </p><p>Blake stands so quickly that she knocks her chair back, but Yang catches it easily, setting it back firmly on four legs. So much of what she does seems easy the outside. Blake knows that there is more than that — the ways that Yang hides or is hurt — but it’s comforting to watch it. Her confidence is contagious.</p><p>So when Yang takes Blake by the hand, gently pulls her to the door, it’s just easy to accept.</p><p>Even turning her head to see Ruby there at the door, waiting for them, Yang’s warm grasp in hers is almost calming. But only almost.</p><p> Blake has avoided looking Ruby’s way for most of the night, afraid of what disappointment or anger she might find imprinted on those usually friendly features, but she can’t keep running or looking away.</p><p>Even after Blake’s many decades of life, sometimes humans still surprise her. </p><p>Because as they draw closer, she sees that Ruby is smiling, laughing, even giving them a thumbs up. Yang reaches out with her other hand once she gets closer, ruffling her kid sister’s hair, but Ruby swats it away. “Have fun, you two! Even if it’s too late to go to Burma.” With a dramatic wave of both her hands, as though she’s a magician conducting a trick, Ruby produces a potted plant from behind her back. “And, also! Look. You almost forgot it in the office.”</p><p>Yang’s cheeks flush bright red. She releases Blake’s hand so that she can grab the pot carefully with both her hands, supporting the weight from underneath. She looks at Blake expectantly, her eyebrows lifting just as Ruby’s grin gets bigger. </p><p>The way that they’re both looking at her, it’s as if Blake is meant to already understand why Yang’s holding a plant in a pot. It’s unclear to Blake if this is a common human thing that she just doesn’t fully understand or if this is an example of Ruby and Yang operating within a language almost all their own. </p><p>She thinks it’s probably that second one.</p><p>When Yang doesn’t say anything, Ruby helpfully provides additional clarification. “I helped her pick it out!” </p><p>Not that this gives Blake a lot more to go on. </p><p>Finally, Yang says. “I wanted to get you a flower, you know, for your first date. But then Ruby said something that can be watered and grown might be better since—”</p><p>“More long term!” </p><p>“—right because it’s more long term—“</p><p>“Like your love should be!”</p><p>“—like our—“ Yang’s blushing even darker, flustered. “Look, you know, I’m perfectly capable of explaining this.”</p><p>“You are so right, I’m perfectly apologetic.” Ruby gestures at Yang with an excessively grand bow. “Please, continue.”</p><p>Yang sighs and holds up the pot toward Blake. “Anyway, this is for you.” </p><p>Blake realizes that she’s expected to take it with her now, on their way out the door. If she were to suggest leaving it in the back of the bar to retrieve later, it might give the wrong impression, especially after she left the scarf with Yang before. She has no choice but to take the potted plant, balancing it carefully in both hands. </p><p>The gesture is incredibly sweet after all, even if the last time a gift of a plant was given to her, it was her name, given by him. Yang has no way of knowing things she’s never been told, and Blake says so little. </p><p>Words are still harder for her than listening. They’re unwieldy, like tools made for different hands. Staring at the damp soil, she sees his icy eyes, as remorseless as his smile. She can’t put into words how or why it happens, how he slips across her mind. The words would only escape here, fleeing as fast as her feet have in the past.</p><p>She doesn’t know why he comes to her suddenly, after so many weeks without a thought. It’s strange, but he hasn’t entered her mind, not even once, since she saw Yang standing in the brewery, beautiful and bright. Stranger still is how quickly he’s gone again, when she looks up to see Yang smiling. Blake can’t think about anything else but the curve of that mouth. </p><p>It really is easy.</p><p>“It’s a succulent,” Yang supplies with a wink. “Like you.” </p><p>Ruby groans and gestures rapidly, waving them toward the door. “Gross! You are both gross and also leaving! Goodbye, enjoy your evening, please don’t return here until tomorrow, Yang, and even then you should probably take another night off, thank you, bye!”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>The only place Yang knows of still open at this hour is just a few blocks away.<p>Halfway there, Yang offers to carry the plant.</p><p>The weight doesn’t bother Blake, but it’s obvious that Yang wants to help, so she smiles and hands it off. “Thanks. And thank you again for the gift. It’s thoughtful.”</p><p>“Maybe it should have just been roses. I think this is starting to be a pain.”</p><p>“No, I like it.” She leans in, their steps drawn closer together. “It’s very you. And Ruby. Which is also very you.” She looks over at Yang and the warmth she feels this time isn’t just a reflection from the affection Yang gives to her. She thinks about the way Yang is with others too, how she cares for her friends and her family, and the thought lights up a flame in Blake’s heart. </p><p>It burns even when Yang looks away — still smiling — to face ahead. “Maybe I humor her too much.”</p><p>“No.” </p><p>She says it so fast that Yang turns back in surprise, laughing. “Oh, yeah?”</p><p>“I like the way you care for your family.” Blake hesitates, and then, “I like you, Yang.”</p><p>Yang stops mid-stride and stares at her. </p><p>Blake’s immediate instinct should be regret. She knows she should want to take it back, to never have said such selfish and vulnerable words of want out loud.</p><p>But she doesn’t regret it, and so she only waits.</p><p>“I like you too,” Yang says eventually before nudging with her elbow. “But come on, this is going to get heavy.” </p><p>Blake has spent enough time evaluating the muscles of Yang’s arms and back to know that she’s unlikely to have any problems carrying a potted plant, but she’s not going to argue with her over that. </p><p>She finds it hard to want to argue with Yang about anything at all.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>The restaurant that Yang knew about is a diner serving all day breakfast.<p>“Waffles,” Yang declares as she slips into a chair. “I’m really dying for some waffles.” She carefully deposits the pot in the seat right next to her. “Do you like breakfast? Sorry, I should have…” When she lifts her gaze again, it’s accompanied with a sigh so long and loud that Blake thinks she must have been holding it in all night. “This isn’t how I thought tonight would go. I had everything planned out.” She sighs again with barely contained frustration. “But, you know. I hope you like waffles at least?” </p><p>Yang tries to grin, push through her annoyance, and it’s so endearing. </p><p>Her smile always makes Blake smile too. “I do. I mean, I think so. It’s been a long time since I’ve had them.”</p><p>“… that is a travesty. First no dates and then no waffles?”</p><p>“It’s a living nightmare, I know.”</p><p>Yang grins and opens the menu. “Good thing you met me, huh?” She flips directly to breakfast. “Okay, so what else have you not eaten that makes you an uncultured heathen?”  Her eyes land on something in particular and then dart back up again, looking concerned. “Bacon?”</p><p>“I’ve never had to keep kosher.”</p><p>“Oh good.” Yang’s eyes are back on the menu. “I doubt they have the fifty pounds they’d need to feed you to make up for a lifetime without it.”</p><p>“You feel strongly about bacon.”</p><p>Her eyes are up again. “I feel strongly about all the best things in life. Also, I’m actually really good at cooking with it.”</p><p>“You’ll have to show me sometime,” Blake says, before she can think better of it.</p><p>And judging by the look on Yang’s face, the way she doesn’t even flinch, maybe it isn’t a problem anyway. </p><p>“… maybe sometime,” is what she says eventually, with the slow start of a smile. “Waffles first.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>Yang makes this late breakfast into something like a five course meal.<p>Since Blake never really gets hungry, she’s able to eat any time. There’s nothing to satisfy, so her capacity is almost endless. Usually that means she doesn’t bother, but tonight Yang is smiling and happy. She’s taking obvious pleasure in providing food for Blake, and so Blake eats it.</p><p>It’s funny that it tastes so much better than it usually does. Maybe eating with another person is always like that. Blake can’t remember what it felt like in the past. It’s been too long.</p><p>Midway through their second round of pancakes, as if reading her mind, Yang asks, “So if you haven’t done the date thing before, does that mean you’ve never been in any kind of a relationship?” Her eyes are on their shared plate, to give Blake a sense of privacy. Like so much of Yang, the gesture is gentle and kind.</p><p>So unlike the man who flashes through her mind.</p><p>She tenses, she must, because Yang is looking directly at her now, and her expression is concerned. “There was… someone?”</p><p>Without waiting, Yang’s hand is out across the table, fingertips grazing against Blake’s knuckles. </p><p>And Blake takes that hand. She holds it tight. “In the beginning. We fell together.” Yang squeezes her hand, but doesn’t say anything else. She gives her the space. “It’s a long story…” She falters. “Maybe I’ll tell it some other time.”</p><p>“That’s okay. Whenever. Or never, if you want.”</p><p>This time it’s Blake’s turn to squeeze their joined hands. “I want you to know. Who I was and where I’ve been. I just… want tonight to be about better things.” </p><p>“Like bacon?”</p><p>She nods. “Like bacon, yeah.”</p><p>Yang nods too. She waves in the direction of the waiter, pointing to the plate that they’ve set aside only for bacon, constantly refilled. The exchange is brief and then her eyes are right back on Blake. “So, uh, changing the subject, how are things at your work?” </p><p>Oh, that does shift Blake’s focus. Because suddenly, she’s outraged, if only a little. </p><p>She swats Yang’s shoulder with her other hand. “Why didn’t you tell me that I’m working for Weiss’s family!” </p><p>“I didn’t know for the longest time! You didn’t say anything.” Yang laughs and tightens her grip on their joined hands, even as her shoulders sway with the force of the playful push. “Did Weiss say something?”</p><p>“I worked it out when she threatened me.”</p><p>Yang’s expression shifts. “She what?”</p><p>“No, it’s okay, I think I kind of deserved it.”</p><p>“Blake, if she—”</p><p>“I thought we were trying to be positive.”</p><p>Yang falters there, because she knows that Blake’s right. “Yeah, fine. Okay. So positive things, about your job.” She smirks. “Or do you want to go with my new topic of me kicking Weiss’s ass?”</p><p>“There’s a union at my job,” Blake cuts in, forcefully. “They’ve been organizing over the last few months.” She can tell that she’s actually got Yang’s interest now. She wonders if it’s because Yang thinks that the concept of a factory union is worthwhile all on its own, or because she’s imagining the ways it would annoy Weiss’s family. “The woman in charge has asked me to join them, several times, but I…” She stares at their hands, the way her fingers fit so easily within Yang’s. It’s strange. She never knew she could fit somewhere before, not easily, not even for as short a time as this.</p><p>“You haven’t wanted to commit.” </p><p>Blake lifts her eyes to study Yang’s face. She expects to find condemnation there, criticism of the unspoken truth between them. Acknowledgement of exactly the kind of fear that Yang is addressing. </p><p>But she only finds gentleness and affection.</p><p>The realization clenches inside of Blake’s heart, placing a strain on her voice. “I was afraid I’d let them down. I’ve never been good at staying anywhere because I’ve never felt like I was good for others.” </p><p>“Blake…”</p><p>She shakes her head, just slightly. She doesn’t want Yang to interject. This needs to be said, and the saying is never easy for her. “I’m starting to rethink that. So I think I’m going to talk to that woman.”</p><p>Yang’s face shifts into a slow grin, wide eyed and eager. “Oh, yeah?” </p><p>She nods. The way Yang’s words curl around her lips and spread into a smile that reaches up to her eyes is its own kind of warmth, just like so many things about her. It reaches out between them, passing through Blake’s heart and into her mouth, spreading, until she smiles too, warmly.  “Yeah, I think I might stay here a while.” She looks down and Yang’s hand is still there, still in her own. “I would like to.”</p><p>They stay like that, just like that, for some time until the waiter returns with more bacon.</p><p>Yang’s eyes shift over to the plate, but she doesn’t make a move. </p><p>Blake smiles. “You can have some if you want.”</p><p>“Oh, thank you, I don’t know why, but I’m still so hungry.” She shovels a handful into her mouth in one go.</p><p>It’s not graceful, not in the slightest, but Blake finds it really endearing.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>They stay a little longer, the food almost an excuse to stay in each other’s company.<p>Until Yang asks, more directly, “Do you have anywhere to be early in the morning?”</p><p>It’s a Wednesday night. They both have work, and Blake’s shift starts in the early morning. </p><p>But she doesn’t really need the sleep.</p><p>“Not too early,” she says. </p><p>Yang looks away, nodding, but her eyes move back to Blake’s face when she asks, “Did you want to come over to my place again?”</p><p>Blake isn’t sure if this is a good idea. Everything fell apart in that room, where her fear overcame her. What if it all came rushing back at her, the way her past always has? </p><p>But she thinks about her own empty apartment and the bed she hasn’t slept peacefully in for weeks.</p><p>“Yes,” she says. “I’d like to, very much.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>They take turns carrying the plant until Yang becomes impatient. Maybe she’s worried that if this takes too long, Blake might change her mind or run, but she hands off the pot and steps away from the curb to hail a car.<p>Yang gives the driver her address, and it’s the first time that Blake has heard it said out loud. </p><p>She thinks that this might be the first time of many others yet to come, and her heart feels so light. So easy. </p><p>How is this still so easy when she’d been so frightened before? </p><p>“Do you want me to hold it?” </p><p>Yang asks, but she reaches her hand out to rest on Blake’s wrist before reaching for the plant.</p><p>Blake looks down to watch Yang’s hand. Every time, it’s still a wonder. “It’s fine.”</p><p>And it is.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>And then.<div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>The apartment is the way she remembers it, for the most part.<p>There’s something large on one of the counters now that wasn’t there before and Yang grins when she notices Blake staring. “Remember how you ask me what’s next all the time?” She points and they both drift closer. “I actually got this at the brewery after we talked. Elm let me buy one of their smaller models off them, since they work well beyond this volume now.”</p><p>“And it’s a…”</p><p>“It’s a fermenter, for home brewing.” </p><p>The depth of what this might mean hits Blake suddenly and sharply. Her eyes widen. “Yang…”</p><p>Yang holds up her hands, as if she anticipates Blake’s mind running away with her. “Nothing right away except at home, but I want to get the hang of it. For long term plans, you know, once Ruby’s through college and my uncle gets back on his feet.” She shrugs, fidgeting with built up energy. It’s there in her hands too, which settle on Blake’s waist, stroking over her hips in a quick and repetitive motion. “I want to make something that’s just mine someday. Something I want.”</p><p>Blake understands that feeling, more than most. “It must be nice to know you have permission to want.”</p><p>Yang moves closer. </p><p>If Blake were to turn her head, just slightly, their mouths would be touching. </p><p>Yang’s eyes shift to track something behind her — it must be the movement of wings — but then they return right back to Blake’s face. “You know you don’t need permission to give yourself a next too, right?” </p><p>She’s never thought of if in those terms before, never felt free to question these things.</p><p>But what if the question comes from someone else?</p><p>“I don’t know,” she admits, and the honesty comes almost easier than the lies used to. But only almost, because her heart is still racing. Maybe that’s just from Yang’s proximity. “But I think I’ll try.”</p><p>Yang nods, and she’s so close that Blake can almost feel Yang’s mouth brush against her cheek. “All anyone can do is try.” Both her hands give Blake’s hips a squeeze, gently. Her voice is so low now, saying, “Do you want to sleep now? That’s all we have to do. We can just sleep.”</p><p>They can. They will. </p><p>But first. </p><p>“I want you,” Blake admits, and maybe that’s a first step.</p><p>The second is grabbing hold of the scarf Yang’s still wearing and pulling her in for a long delayed kiss. </p><p>Her mouth tastes like memory, like the beautiful night Blake tried so long to forget. It all rushes back now, like she’s standing inside of the ocean. She feels all of herself, the want and the need, stretching out to meet Yang’s touch, pulled in with a riptide of want. </p><p>She tugs once and feels Yang’s mouth open in response. </p><p>They back into the counter and Yang mumbles. “Somewhere else, okay, it’s not very…” Her mouth is distracted by Blake’s mouth again. It makes both of them laugh. “Not stable, can we…” Another kiss and the rest of the words don’t matter. </p><p>Blake knows the way to Yang’s bedroom on her own.</p><p>They don’t need to talk.</p><p>Don’t need to, but do. The quiet and the fear that came with it had consumed Blake the last time. She won’t let it happen again. </p><p>She moans Yang’s name when she’s spread out against the sheets, already naked, already needy. But more than that too. She says the things she’s never allowed inside her mouth before. “I need you,” she says. “Yang, I want you.”</p><p>Those muscular arms flex as Yang hovers just above her. “How?”</p><p>Blake’s cheeks are flushed, her breathing is ragged. “Inside me.” </p><p>But also beside her, too. With her. At her side, at her back, walking with her for as long as they both can walk. </p><p>Maybe all of that is there in her voice too, in the desperation clear on her face when Yang slips inside her and every clear thought still in Blake’s head shatters. There is nothing else but them, this moment, and the future they can make together. </p><p>Anything. She’ll do anything with this woman.</p><p>“I’ve got you,” Yang says, and she does. </p><p>She holds Blake in her hands, cradles in her arms, and thrusts until Blake falls apart into someone, something else. “Yang,” she pleads, one leg hooked around to the small of Yang’s back, pinning her deep.</p><p>“I’ve got you,” Yang repeats, heavier and more ragged.</p><p>Whatever words come out of Blake next, it’s indecipherable and primal. It’s want made into sound. Not words or even vowels. Just noise, just need.</p><p>Blake wants so much, and Yang gives it all to her.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div>They wear each other out for hours.<p>Blake doesn’t know which of them falls asleep first, but she wakes up and it’s still night. </p><p>That, at least, isn’t new. She hasn’t slept through a full night’s sleep in weeks.</p><p>Not since the last time she left this bedroom.</p><p>The difference is that unlike the fear that had gathered sharply in her chest, the ache she feels now rides along her spine. It builds up in her shoulder blades, throbbing outward through her arms. She hurts, and she doesn’t know why. </p><p>Did she twist some muscle while they made love?</p><p>She stands up slowly, carefully, and waits to see if Yang will startle awake. But she remains asleep, so peaceful and content. Even with all that Blake did to her before, she trusts her not to leave. </p><p>The room is lit up in moonlight scattered by the snow outside. It distorts the light that filters in, painting Yang’s naked body in a beautiful blue glow. It makes her look deceptively cold, but Blake knows that if she were to reach out, to run her fingertips across Yang’s strong back, she would be burning to the touch. </p><p>But Blake doesn’t want to wake her.</p><p>She doesn’t know what she wants instead, except to stretch. Her movements are automatic, unthinking, as she pulls her shirt on, then her jeans. The socks have disappeared somewhere, but she doesn’t need them. </p><p>Blake knows that she can’t feel the cold.</p><p>She steps into the living room, to the fire escape at the window. </p><p>This all feels so easy, natural somehow. She steps outside into the night, leaving footprints in the snow. She walks to the roof and stretches out her back. </p><p>The ache builds, and still she stretches.</p><p>And then.</p><p>The shadow cast by Blake in the moonlight is larger than the one she’s seen for decades. She aches and she shifts and the shadow of her wings move behind her. The snow continues to fall, and she feels it.</p><p>She feels it on her wings.</p><p>The wind and the snow feels cold, like it never has before. Sensations she can’t even remember are pulling at the back of her mind, creeping up her spine. The wind blows and it tousles her feathers, slipping between each and every one like a different layer of herself. She feels them shift and pull apart, then quickly collapse back again.</p><p>More than anything, she feels. Standing in the dark, alone above a city of millions, her body burns against the cold, awake and more alive than she has been in all her centuries put together.</p><p>Another cold wind passes and Blake shivers.</p><p>Her bare toes flex and curl, and her feet start leading somewhere else, still moving without thinking.</p><p>She’s back inside the warmth of the apartment before she knows where or why she’s going. Her feathers are still damp with traces of snow. She shakes them out as she walks, leaving small puddles in her wake. She’ll clean it in the morning. </p><p>She’ll still be here in the morning. </p><p>She’s under the sheets and inside Yang’s arms in moments. </p><p>Her shirt is discarded and her feathers curl around them both as she collapses into a warmth brighter than any sun, more than she has ever known or thought she could deserve. Her eyes drift closed and her breathing slows as she slips under into sleep.</p><p>For the first time in so long, Blake sleeps through the night, untroubled by anything, least of all fear.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><b>1.</b> Thank you, as always, to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/sbrn10">sbrn10</a> for helping me with beta work and brainstorming. This was a lot of words for you to go over in a short amount of time when a whole lot was happening in the world. Thank you, thank you.</p><p><b>2.</b> I couldn't have written this without <a href="https://catalyswitch.tumblr.com/">catalyswitch</a>. You encouraged and inspired me throughout and <a href="https://catalyswitch.tumblr.com/post/634438765441662976/and-heres-the-artwork-i-did-for-the">the work you made for my words is beautiful</a>. Thank you.</p><p><b>3.</b> The fic title comes from Carly Rae Jepsen's "Run Away with Me."</p><p><b>4.</b> <a href="https://perpetuallyfive.tumblr.com/post/634432955297808384/we-never-sleep-we-never-try-rwby-some-kind-of">I'm P5 on tumblr</a>. Hello, hi.</p><p><b>5.</b> If you enjoyed this fic, considering checking out <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/18911761/chapters/44894224">my Dishonored AU</a> that I've poured a year of my life into. I'm pretty proud of it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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